


Arms and the Boy

by HerrGrindelwald, x57



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, Extremely Underage, M/M, Minor Character Death, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Shota, Violence against Children, War, muggle prison camp, noir, very unhappy ones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-01-27 10:26:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 70,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12579664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerrGrindelwald/pseuds/HerrGrindelwald, https://archiveofourown.org/users/x57/pseuds/x57
Summary: "CommanderGrindelwald... is the master of all muggles, little one." The guard came to a halt directly behind the boy, dropping two firm, gloved hands on the boy's shoulders andsqueezing, in a threatening mockery of a massage. "He's the reason you've been liberated from your lives ofignoranceand brought into your proper place in the world order."Credence Barebones' life changed abruptly when Gellert Grindelwald's army swept through and conquered his little town. With Ma dead and the Second Salem church burned to cinders, Credence is rounded up with the other muggle children and marched toward an uncertain fate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to a round-robin-esque story written by myself (Piper/x57) and HerrGrindelwald. We hope you enjoy. - thepiperofhameln
> 
> I hope you'll have as much fun reading this as x57 and I have writing it. Who doesn't need a little _forbidden_ escapism? Mh? -H.G.
> 
> Let the boy try along this bayonet-blade  
> How cold steel is, and keen with hunger of blood;  
> Blue with all malice, like a madman's flash;  
> And thinly drawn with famishing for flesh.
> 
> Lend him to stroke these blind, blunt bullet-leads,  
> Which long to nuzzle in the hearts of lads,  
> Or give him cartridges of fine zinc teeth  
> Sharp with the sharpness of grief and death.
> 
> For his teeth seem for laughing round an apple.  
> There lurk no claws behind his fingers supple;  
> And God will grow no talons at his heels,  
> Nor antlers through the thickness of his curls.
> 
> \- Arms and the Boy, by Wilfred Owen

Credence almost fell when the boy behind him grabbed his shoulders to steady himself. He grunted and bent his knees, but said nothing. The clay lay close to the surface in this region, and the wizards had overturned the soil to build The Camp. The endless rain had transformed the resulting mulch of clay and earth into a slippery trap that alternately threatened to throw the children flat on their backs or suck off their boots.

The wizards were not affected, of course. They rode beside the solemn column on tall, dark horses, shepherding their young captives toward the camp gates. The finely carved sticks they waved as they barked their commands were more terrifying than any gun. Credence kept his shoulders drawn up to his ears and his eyes on the ground ahead of him. He had seen firsthand what those sticks could do, back in the army camp, before all the captive children were rounded up and marched toward _The_ Camp.

They weren't as many as they'd been.

Through the squelching of the muck beneath their feet and the clacking of the horses beside them, the soft cries of the children were still audible. Whimpers here and there. Heavy breathing all around. Not too loud, though. Credence remembered the sparks, like licks of fire, that had stung the last boy who had called out for his mother. As did they all. 

Mary Lou’s Hell had sprung up from the depths of the earth, and its harbingers had stormed down upon the town to snatch them all away. Her children. Children who had not yet been worthy, clean, and righteous enough for her God had been plucked from her grasp before they’d been saved. Credence knew that was how she would have phrased it, and he could not help but wonder whether they were headed for damnation now. Her screams still reverberated inside his head. 

He nearly ran into the body in front of him when they came to a sudden stop, only just managing to jerk back before it could happen. Driven by some instinctual fear he could not restrain, he glanced up, needing to see why they’d stopped. He’d learnt never to raise his eyes to his Ma, but now the fear gripped him harder than it had ever before. Even when he was a child not old enough yet to know his letters. 

Credence tasted burnt air as the wizards raised their sticks, looking like statues with their heavy coats, and sparks flew up out of them all at once. 

Some of the children screamed, but this time there was no bloodshed and no falling bodies. It was a signal, he realized, and before their little band, the gates creaked and opened.

Credence startled at the sight of those gates. The Camp had looked so small in the distance; a dreary, flat lump on the landscape, barely visible behind sheets of rain. Up close, the wrought iron gates towered with an ominous majesty Ma's church could never have hoped to match. Credence noticed an unnatural iridescence shimmering deep in the dark metal, and he did not need to be told that these gates, like so much else, were imbued with magic.

Some foolish curiosity kept Credence's eyes raised as they were marched through. It was easier to keep his gaze aloft than to sneak glances. None of the uniformed wizards seemed to be paying him much mind as they steered the line and rendezvoused with their commanders and compatriots. They were probably eager to get out of the rain as well, though none of them seemed as frightfully cold as the children they herded.

"Muggles! Form a line! Single file! Three, two, one—done!"

Credence blinked and tried to see where the voice was coming from. There was some confusion and crowding at the head of the line—and a moment later, a shrill scream.

Before Credence's eyes, a small, blond boy, surely no older than six, rose high into the air before them, wreathed in glimmering magic.

"Let's try that again! Single file! Three, two, one, DONE!"

Credence was jostled from all sides as the boys tripped over one another from their disordered line to form an orderly one. Three seconds was not enough time, and some were still tripping into place by the time the voice shouted 'done.'

The magic that surrounded the floating boy pulsed, and he screamed again, clearly in pain. Credence could see the veins in his neck standing taut against his fair skin.

"I said three! Two! One!"

"Done!" came a small, boyish voice from the line.

"That's right."

The boy in the air slowly floated back down to solid ground. Credence was beginning to get the idea. He was shaking as they stood there, back to back in the new single file line, much more orderly than they’d been before. The rush left him trembling even more than the fact that they were now standing just inside the gates, looking out at their captors. Pressed this close together, Credence could feel the girl in front of him trembling just as much, and for once he was glad to be so short for his age. She and the boy behind him were taller, and all he wanted to do was shrink and disappear from sight. 

The wizard who’d been shouting wheeled his horse around at the front of the line, dangerously close, and a few of the children startled so much they fell back into the mud. 

“Up, now! There will be no dawdling here!” 

They all flinched, anticipating the wooden stick that was brandished a moment later. With a flick, the children were pulled to their feet like marionettes on strings. It did not look pleasant. They cried out, but one was noticeably shriller than the others and when Credence allowed himself to look again, he saw that the boy’s leg had been twisted into an awkward angle. He stood on the mangled limb anyway, not daring to fall again.

But the horse was moving down the line and the wizard began inspecting each of them, making sure no one was out of place, with that stick still raised too high in the air to know where he would strike next.

It was the wizards’ unpredictability that kept them on edge, always vigilant for the next command. In this, at least, Credence had an advantage: he'd lived his whole life in a state of tension, reading Ma's every movement and mood. So far, he had not tasted the invisible lash of magic, though he'd been shoved along a few times. Didn't matter. He knew how it would go. Even the most earnest efforts at obedience could only stay the rod so long.

This bitter wisdom, too, was an advantage.

A bright flash lit the mud around Credence's boots, and for a moment he thought it was lightning—but instead of the sound of thunder, the flash was followed by a child's wail. A few moments later, the flash went off again, and another wail was heard. And then again. And then the line began to shuffle forward.

The wizards that flanked the line on horseback kept them moving with little zaps to their ankles and commands that sounded almost bored. Credence could tell that whatever was making the flash was waiting for him at the front of the line, though he didn't dare stick his head out to peek. The only thing he could glean with his wandering eyes was that they were crossing a gap that stretched between the outer wall and the inner structures, which all looked like identical black blocks in the dim rain.

Credence's heart sank. The wide gap made sense.

Any child making for the wall, whether sneaking or running, would be easily seen.

His breath was coming faster. Too fast. These little realizations were too much. Credence may have been used to living under the sting of Ma’s lashes, but the more he noticed about this place, the more it began to dawn on him what he could be walking into. The other children had no idea. If any of them realized what their captors were thinking or knew that the lashings and intimidations would not stop if they only got past this point, they didn’t show it. Credence tried desperately to slow his breathing, to not look for an escape, to keep moving forward, but it was hard. 

The creak and clack of metal behind them resounded through his bones. The gates had closed. They were locked in, and even if he had thought there could be hope of escape before, there was none now. 

Someone’s bloodied hand grabbed his shoulder when the line jostled and the wizards shouted at them to keep moving. Credence was startled by it, dark and gleaming there just beside him, and it occurred to him that he didn’t know whose blood it was—that of the boy behind him, or one of the boy’s loved ones, like his mother, or father, or any of the number of bodies that lay strewn across the town after the wizards had come. 

He couldn’t linger long on the thought before his attention was forced to the front of the line, where he was drawing close enough to see what was happening.

A man stood there, waiting as each child was fetched forward, then reached out, grabbed their arm, and raised the stick in his hand. The subsequent flash of light and the scream that followed obscured Credence’s vision and made him duck his head. No matter how much he knew that he needed to quell his fear, that his steps needed to be steady, he couldn’t help his trembling. 

He looked up again just as the girl in front of him was shoved away, crying, stumbling, and clutching at her arm, and before Credence had time to react, the man grabbed him next and lifted his arm into the air. The stick rose, pointing at his flesh, and the same blinding light shot out of the tip and went searing through his arm. 

Credence screamed.

"O-ho...! A screamer, that one... Very good, lad. Let it out. Better for ye that way."

Credence's ears were still ringing from the sound of his own cry, and his eyes were blinded from the flash, when a large hand grabbed him firmly by the back of the neck and marched him forward. He had a vague impression of passing under a small archway, and then he was abruptly brought to a halt. Deposited.

Credence did not question. He planted his feet, and did not stir from the spot. But as he heard footsteps retreating in the squelching mud, he could not help a glance at his arm.

Bright dots swam in his vision, but there was a glow beyond the blindness that seemed to pass through it all like an image beyond sight. Credence blinked, and realized he could still "see" it when his eyes were closed—in a colorless, lightless way he found incomprehensible.

Tentatively, he curled one tiny finger around the hem of his sodden sleeve. The roughspun fabric clung wetly to his skin, chafing him badly, but the strange glow was pulsing just below it, on his forearm. It felt as though a bullet of light had gone through the heel of his palm, up into his forearm, and settled there, making his arm throb as it found a home in his flesh.

He didn’t know whether to risk a peek. Nothing could hurt worse than what he'd just experienced, he decided. While his heart was still brave, he lifted his sleeve, and saw.

There, glowing beneath the surface of his skin, was a perfect triangle. Nestled within was a circle, and within that again, a line—slightly fatter in the middle, like a cat's eye, watching.

His skin crawled. He didn’t want to touch it, but he wanted to cover it. 

The children in front of him were still crying and clutching at their arms. It didn’t look like anything bad would happen if he did, but he couldn’t help the thought that _touching_ this magic would be a terrible idea. 

Somehow, they’d managed to keep their line even after the branding. The wizard who’d herded them inside was waiting at the very front, where the first boy was still whimpering. 

“Hurry it up, we haven’t got all day!” he shouted, waving his stick to corral them back into order as they rejoined the line, one by one. 

By the time the last child had been branded, they were back into place, wounded and sniffling, but not daring to step out of line. Credence felt the hot throb of pain more sharply than the chill of the rain and was sure that he was sweating just as much as he was shaking now. Some of the other children looked a little green. 

The wizard rocked back in his seat and surveyed them with the most insincere smile Credence had ever seen. “Welcome back to school, boys and girls! Class is now in session.” 

If this was some kind of joke, neither Credence nor any of the other children seemed to get it.

Girls were sorted into their own line and marched out of sight to the east end of camp. The remaining boys were made to count off, one through four, and were assigned their housemates as simply and randomly as that. They were already standing in the thick of the western dorms, it turned out, though Credence would not have judged the squat, dark blocks that surrounded them to be residential buildings.

The wizards finally dismounted their horses and split off to lead the four smaller groups into four separate, but identical, buildings. By then, it was raining so heavily that Credence felt weighed down by the sheer force of the water. Or perhaps that was exhaustion, gripping him in a fresh wave as the searing in his forearm receded into a dull, distracting throb. Even if he could collapse right there in the mud, he didn't think he could sleep with the pain.

When the door to his dormitory finally creaked open and Credence was lead inside, what he saw was a room that was only distinguishable from the gloom outside in that it was blessedly, blessedly dry. Otherwise, it held none of the comforts of a proper home. The walls were thin and the windows rattled in their frames as the wind howled. The floor was hard-packed earth, kept dry by a layer of straw. No walls divided the many bunks, nor even the privy pots, though some flimsy curtains separated the latter.

There were boys already occupying some of the bunks, and they sat up from their slumber when they heard noises at the door, peering fearfully at the newcomers.

Credence did not think it was possible for any place to feel more miserable than Ma's church, but he was wrong. He'd had his own bed, there; his own private room. He'd even had some personal possessions, and a place to store them. He'd had a hardwood floor, and lamps he could light of his own accord.

To think he had taken all that for granted. This was surely his punishment for wanting more from life.

“Go on.” 

A heavy hand shoved his shoulder, and Credence quickly ducked his head and hurried along. That was all the prompting the other boys needed to scurry into the center of the room. Punish one, and the rest would fall into line. But Credence already knew that. 

“Now there’s a smart one,” the man laughed, voice too loud in the confines of the room. The boys sitting upon the bunks tensed, but none so much as the new arrivals. “See that.” 

Credence knew he was being pointed at, but with his shoulders up and his back straight and his eyes on the floor, he did not dare meet the wizard’s eye. 

“Now _that_ is model behavior. I want you _all_ to take a good long look at the new kid here, and the next time I see you, you better be _just_ as obedient.” 

Credence swallowed silently. His gut churned, being singled out like this, knowing it was not good. He knew that tone of voice. This was a man who liked to hear himself talk, who liked to play games, and he began to feel the eyes of the others on him soon enough. Still, all he could do was stand there, motionless, not daring to step a toe out of line. 

“Only with _obedience_ can any of you do well here. Isn’t that right, boy?” the wizard asked, punching the question through the air. 

The beat of silence that followed told Credence that he needed to answer no matter how much ice was in his veins. He opened his mouth and spoke as loud as he could, which wasn’t very loud at all, “Yes, sir.”

A sharp jab between his shoulder blades had Credence tripping forward, but he caught himself and shot back up into his guarded position, like a pin at the faire.

"Yes, _master_ ," the wizard corrected, an infuriating smugness lacing every syllable of his voice. "That is what we are, boy. Your masters. All wizards are your masters."

"Yes... master."

Credence's voice was so hoarse, he wasn't sure he could be heard. He stood firm as a stump, his middle back tingling in anticipation of another blow. Credence, who had experience with these matters, knew that blows often came to punctuate points as well as make them.

But when the wizard touched him again, it was not a blow. A leather-gloved hand landed on his head and mussed his hair. When it retreated, Credence was still waiting for pain—but that never came. He realized, with a sinking gut, that the gesture had been... affectionate. As one might be affectionate with an obedient dog.

"To bed! All of you! Find an open bunk. The rest of your lives begin tomorrow."

The way the wizard drawled it, the promise of new life was imbued with all the threat of misery they anticipated. Before Credence could unglue his legs from his little spot of floor, he felt the wizard's breath against the shell of his ear, and a private, comment growled:

"Bet you like the bottom bunk."

His face heated. Tingles of another, deeper kind of fear shot through his body all the way from his head to his frozen toes, but Credence managed to keep his expression in place; managed not to look at the man. He stood still until he was released and the wizard straightened, watching as the boys climbed swiftly into bed, or searched for one. 

That was Credence’s only chance to get away. They’d been given an order and he had to find a bunk or risk being singled out and punished, or…. He didn’t want to think about anything more than that. He wasn’t an idiot. Ma may not have allowed such talk in her presence or the house of God, but Credence had heard the other children talk. Especially the older boys from the neighborhood who liked to taunt them, sometimes threaten them. Credence had figured out what they meant. 

The wizard’s watchful gaze made Credence race that much faster to find a bed, top or bottom, he did not care.

Just when he thought he’d found one on top, however, another boy kicked him away and scrambled up the shaky few boards that made up a ladder. He only barely managed not to fall, but a split second later he realized the bottom bed seemed to be empty and jumped into it. The pillow smelled of must and the blanket wasn’t much of a blanket at all, but Credence pulled it up over his shoulders as fast as he could, realizing only then that he had forgotten to take off his shoes. It didn’t matter, he told himself. All that mattered was that this man left them alone.

Thankfully, the wizard was more interested in a hot meal and a cot of his own than in sating his sadism further that night. The door slammed shut with a piteous whine of its hinges, and Credence was left in a darkness that was punctuated only by a dim blue flame in a swinging lamp, and the occasional flash of lightning.

He'd hoped to simply kick off his shoes and try to sleep his terrible ordeal away, but the other boys immediately began to chatter.

"Welcome to hell," one of them said bitterly; an older boy, whose voice had begun to change.

"I'm Cress," said another. "What're your names?"

"Doesn't matter," someone else cut in, with a thick English accent. "They just call you 'muggle' anyhow. That's all our names now. You, muggle, over there."

"How long have you all been here?"

One of the newcomers found his voice, though it was ragged from the rain—and from screaming.

"I been here since summertime," the English boy said. "Since my birthday. In June. Not summertime no more... S'cold now..."

"It's November," one of the newcomers squeaked. "November twenty-second."

"I tried to count the days at first," said the oldest boy. "But you give up tryin' that sort of thing after a while."

Credence listened to the chatter, but did not participate. Instead, he focused on unlacing his shoes as quietly as possible, hoping not to draw any attention to himself.

"What- what were those things they put on our arms?"

"That's your chain. They can use it to find you. No matter where you are. And they can make it hurt, too. Even if you're not there in front of them."

Credence stopped halfway through unlacing his second shoe, and it was all he could do not to sob. The tears pressed fearfully at his eyes, and he squeezed them shut, holding his breath so he wouldn't make a sound.

He had always been able to _hide_ , at the very least. And when Ma's footsteps retreated, he knew the pain was over. The thought that he could not even escape their punishments when he was alone with his own thoughts was almost too much to bear. Alone had always protected him. It was too much to have that refuge taken away as well.

Was it automatic, he wondered? If one of them, marked with the glowing symbol, stepped foot outside the camp, would they be hurt? Would sirens ring out? Or did the wizards have to notice them missing and activate it? This new threat filled him with questions, but they fought against his determination to stay quiet. The two instincts warred within him. 

Ma would have laughed.

_‘Of course the Devil’s minions would be able to find you wherever you go. Just as you cannot hide from the eyes of God._ ’

Someone began crying. 

Now that the wizards were gone, it broke out. First one, quiet voice, and then another, muffled, but louder than they were allowed to be on the march there—except during the branding. The boys that were talking ignored it. Like this was normal. 

“What is this place?” one of the boys Credence knew as Johan asked. He had been a regular at Mary Lou’s soup offerings, but didn’t stick around much after the requisite readings from the Bible. Credence thought he was bold. “Are we like prisoners now?”

The older boy, sitting on one of the lower bunks, shrugged. “Basically. Only kids end up here. They say they’re gonna teach us things, but mostly you just get put to work.”

Credence finally got his other shoe off. He set it down as silently as he could and moved to curl back under the blanket, peering out at the others across from him. Those he’d arrived with weren’t all children he recognized. Some were from nicer parts of town. But on all of them, even the ones who’d been there for a time already, Credence could make out a faint glow under the sleeves of their clothing. 

If he stayed quiet that night, and let the others forget that he was supposedly a model prisoner, then maybe he could ask more questions tomorrow.

* * *

The chance for questions never came.

Credence was woken by a shrill, head-splitting whistle and shouted commands.

"Out of bed! Three, two, one-"

"Done!" shouted a chorus of groggy voices—followed shortly by wails and moans from the boys who were not accustomed to switching from a dead sleep to standing on their feet in a matter of seconds.

Credence was one of those boys. A sharp zap stung the stole of his foot, and he yelped as he flew to his feet, embarrassed by the high pitch of his own voice.

"I expect a line at the door in ten minutes! And bunks made!"

Some of the boys raced for the privy pots to do their morning business, while others began folding neat corners on their bunks. Credence was so overwhelmed with the rush of motion, he only stood there, dazed. Perhaps he could sleep...? For eight more minutes...?

The mark on his forearm pulsed, as if in warning, and Credence woke up instantly. Could it detect defiant thoughts?

He'd just finished making his bed when one of the other boys strolled past and tugged all his neatly tucked sheets free. Credence heard a few sniggers. He froze.

A familiar instinct overtook him. Something that compressed him until he was standing taut as stone with all his resentful feelings packed as tight as coal into his center. He managed to unlock his joints and make the bed again—but the wizard came in to march them out just as he'd finished, and he didn't have an opportunity to relieve his full bladder. He marched into the cold, bright morning with it jostling unpleasantly inside him, and balled his fists at his sides. The rain had finally stopped, but even in the light of day, the camp was colorless, all various shades of brown and black.

The morning’s chill had always held a certain quality that differentiated it from that of the day. Maybe it had something to do with the frost upon the ground; that it had dipped those few degrees colder overnight and that Credence would still long for bed for a few more hours yet. He had never liked it. Mornings being thrust out into the streets of his old town to hand out leaflets were always unpleasant, but this, he feared, bode worse. 

He fought to pull his head out of the dark place it had gone and just deal with it. He’d been helpless at Ma’s church, and he was helpless here. The knowledge that there was nothing he could do should have soothed him, but it only made things more difficult. 

The distant sound of a shouting voice caught Credence’s ear. Across the packed roads and squat, wooden buildings, he could see another line of children with a witch in front of them, her voice and movements sharp as she paced. It was the girls, he realized, who had been segregated to the other side of the camp.

His attention was quickly brought back to his own group when the wizard who’d woken them stepped out in front. 

“Listen up, muggles!” He planted his feet and folded his arms behind his back, the very picture of a smug soldier. “This morning you’re going to be digging out rocks on the plot for another dormitory. We’re expanding, you see, because all you little muggle vermin _spread_ like vermin. Pretty soon this world wouldn’t be able to contain you if we don’t do something about it. And for all you newcomers—you work for your breakfast here.”

Picking up rocks.

Credence's shoulders slumped. It sounded just as tedious as handing out leaflets, though perhaps a little easier on his fragile disposition, since no one would be slapping leaflets out of his hand or snarling at his offering. Sure, it sounded more physically demanding, but Credence was healthy enough, though he looked painfully pale. This was better, he told himself. All he had to do was keep his head down.

By the time he had a cold bowl of breakfast oats in hand, he knew how wrong he'd been. The work wasn't really work: it was just an opportunity for the wizards to drive home who was really in charge. They could lift the damn rocks with their magic sticks if they wanted to—they rubbed as much in the children’s faces. Credence's fingers were numb from touching so many stupid rocks, and his muscles burned in a way he'd never experienced. He wished the oats in his bowl were warm, but nothing was warm here. It was as if the cold settled deeper each passing hour. It lived in his bones, now. He was sure he would never feel warm again.

It had been bad enough with his threadbare clothes back at Ma’s. Now he had the same threadbare clothes here, mucking about in the mud and making it even worse. Most of the other children at least had better trousers and thicker shirts, although not all. Credence spotted a few who looked like they’d been wearing nice clothes when they were captured. Though he noticed the ones who’d been there longer all wore gray.

Everything had been a whirlwind since the attack. Moving too fast and too slow all at once. He couldn’t believe they’d only been captured for…two days, now. Was that it? Everything had been such a jumble. He’d thought he and the other children were going to die while they were rounded up and held behind faintly glowing fences amid the wizarding army, until they were marched off. Until they arrived here. 

It didn’t seem that anyone knew what this camp was. Not really. The wizards said it was to teach them to be proper muggles. The children here just repeated that sentiment, although there wasn’t much real teaching going on. Or maybe Credence didn’t understand it yet. Maybe, he began to suspect, the only thing they needed to learn to become ‘proper muggles’ was subservience. 

Credence watched the children who’d been there the longest. They all ate quickly. He forced himself to do the same.

Two of the newcomers had been punished for whispering to each other while they picked up rocks. Their punishment had been swift and brutal, leaving both on their backs with the mere swish of a wizard’s stick, but all the older children had kept their heads down and kept working. No one but the new ones even glanced their way, and it was very clear that this was the norm here. Punishment was to be expected for stepping out of line, no matter what was asked of them, and the other children would not help. 

At the fifteen-minute break for breakfast, the wizards stepped away and took out a pipe—one that blew wafts of green smoke into the air—and for the first time since they awoke, the children started to chatter quietly among themselves.

"Psst... New kid."

It took Credence a long moment to realize he was being addressed. He froze, staring into the face of a grinning boy, younger than him, whose two front teeth had just barely started to grow in where his milk teeth had been. How could anyone grin in a place like this?

"I heard the guards talking," the kid lisped on. "Commander Grindelwald sacked your city. Didn't he."

The kid's attempt to say 'sacked your city' landed some spittle on Credence's hands, and he tucked them into his underarms.

Thankfully, someone next to him answered on his behalf.

"Who's Grindelwald?"

His question rang out a little too loudly, and attracted the attention of a guard. It put a queer feeling in Credence's tummy, watching the wizard saunter over in that form-fitted uniform, with its sharply tapered shoulders and long, black cloak, fluttering aside to reveal slimly tailored hips. There was such an air of power about each of their wizarding captors. And why wouldn't there be? They could do anything they wanted by waving a stick.

" _Commander_ Grindelwald... is the master of all muggles, little one." The guard came to a halt directly behind the boy, dropping two firm, gloved hands on the boy's shoulders and _squeezing_ , in a threatening mockery of a massage. "He's the reason you've been liberated from your lives of _ignorance_ and brought into your proper place in the world order. You'll learn all about it in your classes... The way muggles have hunted and disparaged wizardkind for generations... and wizards, out of kindness, never lifted a hand to retaliate. We hid in the shadows and _got out of your way_ while you bred like pests and sprawled across the landscape... driving us out of our ancient homes..."

The wizard's voice was taking on an almost mocking, operatic quality—but Credence could tell he believed every word he was speaking.

"But. That's all changed now. Hasn't it," the wizard concluded with a stale smile, giving the terrified boy beneath him a reassuring pat.

The rest of the boys shrank back as he strolled around the table, muttering something Credence didn’t catch and lighting up the end of his stick with a short series of numbers. The time, Credence realized. They only had a few minutes more left to eat. 

Credence didn’t know when he’d next have the chance to ask any of the questions he’d had that morning. It was now or possibly never. He hunched over his empty bowl and spoke quietly.

“How well can they track us with these glowing… marks? Does it raise an alarm or something if you go where you’re not supposed to? Or do they have to go looking for you with it, or…?” 

He looked around the table to the other boys, but most of them were just staring at him. A few cast their eyes around the table. “Glowing?” the boy with the English accent asked. “You mean the marks on our arms, yeah?” 

Credence blinked. “Y-yeah?” Had he said something wrong? They were looking at him in confusion. 

The same boy spoke up again. “Yours glows?”

Credence glanced down at his arm. Faintly, he could still see the light under his sleeve, even through the dirt. He glanced around the table and all the boys were looking at him now, but the wizards had gone back to their pipe, and didn’t notice the shift. One of them was keeping watch on the time with the little glowing numbers in the air. 

Careful to keep an eye on them, Credence raised his arm and pulled back the sleeve for the others to see, although he didn’t know why they didn’t believe him. Theirs didn’t look any different. 

“Psh, see?” the other boy said, making a flippant gesture. Credence glanced between the boys as they rolled their eyes, suddenly becoming very uninterested. “Don’t make stuff up like that or you’ll get your arse kicked here, yeah? And as for what they can do, dunno how it works, exactly. One way or another, they just know.” 

“Yeah, and if you get caught being somewhere you’re not supposed to be…,” another boy chimed in.

A round of somber hums and nods followed as the more longstanding residents echoed the unspoken warning.

Credence felt pins and needles all over. His eyes passed furtively over the rows of glowing forearms as his paranoia grew. Were they hazing him because of what the guard said last night? Messing with his head?

It wasn't until Credence was putting his empty bowl on the serving tray that he noticed the blood on his hands. He'd been making tight little fists in his lap, as he often did when he was enduring something unpleasant. Only, his skin had been so punished by recent abuses that it cracked over his bony knuckles. Credence's hands were so cold, he hadn't even felt it.

Embarrassed, he wiped his hands off on his dirty clothes and hurried into formation so that they could march to their next locale. A classroom, it turned out. At least, they called it that; to Credence, it looked more like Ma's church, with pew-like rows of seating in a dreary space where flashy, opinionated posters were the only source of color. The posters declared the coming of a new age, with stylized illustrations of witches and wizards gazing toward a rising sun in noble profile, or wands spilling sparkling slogans, or beasts of legend soaring through bold headlines like "FREE" and "REVOLUTION." As they piled into their seats, one poster in particular drew Credence's attention. It featured two fisted hands, stretched out before the viewer, with heavy shackles that burst open with a magical glow, again and again, under the words: "Out of the shadows at last."

He was still staring at it when a voice at the head of the classroom shouted: "One, two, three—eyes on me!"

The more experienced boys echoed: "One, two—eyes on you!"

Credence couldn't help but notice that they had no pencils, no paper, and no surface to write on. Apparently, this classroom was only for looking and listening—not acting.  
Their teacher was a sharp-eyed, sandy-haired wizard who dressed down for the occasion only by removing his heavy outer cloak and gloves. He leaned over the desk at the front of the room as he took stock of the class. 

Credence wanted to be grateful that they were inside, resting now, and at least out of the wind, but he could not fight the trepidation this man’s bearing instilled in him. Somehow he felt like they’d been under less scrutiny when they’d been hauling rocks outside. 

“Welcome newcomers,” the man began in a calm tone after he had thoroughly counted them, possibly memorized each of their faces. “You will join in the lesson where we are now. Any catch-up must be done on your own time. Is that understood?” 

Credence thought there would be hesitation, but half the voices in the class called back immediately. “Yes, master!” A cascade of murmurs from the new children followed, catching on a little late, and, startled, Credence joined in ever so quietly. 

The wizard looked like he’d been expecting that. He gave a long pause before smiling, and not kindly. “When I ask you a question in this classroom, I expect you to be quick with an answer. If I can count to three before you begin, there will be punishment. If you talk out of turn, there will be punishment. If you question me, there will be _more_ punishment. Now,” he straightened, “who can tell me why a muggle is classified as a ‘beast’ rather than a ‘being’?”

And so the class went on.

Only the children who’d been there for a long time raised their hands to speak, and it quickly became apparent that the only reason they did so was to not be called upon when they didn’t have an answer ready. 

Sometimes the instructor would pick up a heavy book and read them a paragraph of what sounded like history, but it was history Credence had never heard before. Afterward, he’d call on a few unfortunate children to summarize what he’d read. There were lines he had them all chant in unison, repeated over enough times for the new children to remember, and Credence knew he would spend the rest of the day fighting to get the sing-song voices out of his thoughts.

His head was like the inside of a bell by the time he left the classroom, with strange new notions reverberating inside. Somehow, they'd managed to turn information into a sort of assault. Credence normally loved to read and learn new things, but this class only left him bewildered and small. He was still turning over the notion of a "spark" in his head, and how he didn't have it, and how that meant he wasn't even a person, really, when two wizards in blue intercepted their line and exchanged a few words with their chaperone. Shortly after, all the new boys were pulled out of line and made to march after the new wizards to some other identical, dreary place within the compound.

Credence was beginning to feel like he marched every time he closed his eyes, even when he was sitting down. Pretty soon he'd be marching in his dreams.

He was surprised when the building they entered was actually a proper building, with insulated walls and linoleum floors. They passed through an area where more blue-clad wizards were hard at work, and Credence caught a glimpse of someone filling a vial with some viscous liquid that looked suspiciously like blood. The same substance was splattered on the wizard’s apron. He stretched his neck to see more, but the worker disappeared behind a translucent plastic sheet. Was this some sort of hospital?

They were lead out of the nicer area and down a cramped, damp hallway, lit only by the magic sticks of the wizards who flanked them front and rear. At the end of the hallway, their leader turned and pushed open a door, beyond which the smell of chlorine emanated so strongly that the inside of Credence's nose burned.

"You'll remove your clothes and throw them in the basket to the left, then proceed to the showers."

Credence went cold all over. Remove his clothes...? In... in front of them?

The line began to file into the room, but the person behind Credence bumped into him. Credence tried to unfreeze his legs, but he couldn't move. He was paralyzed from head to toe. They had hurt him and exhausted him and harassed him, but this... this was too much. His modesty—he couldn't give that up. He couldn't.

The boys behind him began to grow agitated. Not only was the line not moving when they’d learned very quickly how important it was to follow orders, but they, too, were unsure about the idea. If it had not been the other new boys, Credence would probably have been pushed forward without a second thought. 

“I said move!” the wizard barked, going suddenly from perfunctory to biting. 

It caused Credence to jump into action before he realized what he was doing. He was already a few steps forward, following the other boys with his heart in his throat before he could think to stop himself. He was trembling again, surrounded by stripping boys. 

Some were quicker than others, obviously optimistic at the prospect of a shower and unworried about their nudity. And some were more hesitant, removing their clothing slowly and trying to hide as much as possible as they did so. 

Credence was the only one not following directions as he stood, mortified, in the midst of his naked peers. It was not that the thought of nudity had never occurred to him outside of Ma’s teachings before. It was that it _had_ , and he knew how bad those thoughts were, if she or the other children at the church ever knew. If he had not had unclean thoughts in the first place, he would never have had to worry. 

The wizard nearest them noticed. He unfolded his arms, stick in one hand, and took a step towards Credence. 

It had an immediate effect. Credence’s back straightened and his hands shot up to his collar. Swiftly, he began to undo it.

His fingers were halfway down the row of buttons on his shirt when he registered that the warm feeling on his face was tears. He tried to stop it. He hadn’t cried in front of anyone in a long time, but that thought only made it worse. A quiet sob escaped his mouth. Thin, whinging, and pathetic, the sounds spilled out and condemned him. He could _feel_ every eye in the room turning his way.

"Shut up," snapped the wizard who had drawn his weapon.

Credence wanted to. But it didn't matter now. The sounds wouldn't stop, and the deeper he dug his hole, the more he surrendered to his mewlish wails. His fingers were trembling violently and one of the buttons caught on a loose thread and tangled so badly that he couldn't free it in his shaken state. He didn't understand how the undressing could feel like such a violation when it was his own fingers baring his skin—but it did.

"Oh for fuck's sake..." The wizard stepped right into Credence's space—and put his stick away. Credence was confused and irrationally relieved for half a breath, before the wizard grabbed his shirt in tight-knuckled fists and _ripped_ the remainder of it open.

Credence heard buttons dance across the cool, concrete floor.

His wails died off into numb shock.

He stood, unmoving, as the wizard briskly and efficiently stripped off the remainder of his clothing. His dread from a moment ago had been replaced by the saving grace of blankness.

Somehow, this was better. Not really having a choice.

"Now get in the shower," the wizard murmured, snatching up Credence's clothes irately and marching off. The man sounded more tired than angry. Credence couldn't explain why, but he felt strangely grateful to him.

On legs that moved of their own accord and shoulders hunched into himself, Credence followed the other boys. There was no hiding his nudity, but they didn’t look at him now. No one looked at anyone much as they searched for the handles to turn on the water. 

The showers were all along one wall of the room, with a cold, linoleum floor that dipped into a small drain at the center. There were not enough shower heads for all of them, so several boys crowded around each. 

As soon as one turned on, the boys under it let out a quiet yelp. The water was cold. Frantically, they tried to turn the handle every which way to get it warmer, but only looked like they had marginal luck. In quick succession, the rest of the showers turned on. Credence, too, yelped when the sting of ice water matched with incredible pressure touched his skin. All the boys in his group jumped back, and then, quickly, darted their arms under the spray, getting themselves as clean as they could a little bit at a time. 

“There’s soap in the alcoves next to your showers,” the same wizard said, pacing slowly on the other side of the room. “Use it.” 

Credence, being closest to the wall, saw it first. He didn’t think before he grabbed it. Thoughts of cleanliness rushed through the dull shock still lingering in his mind. It wasn’t simply a selfish thought. Ma had always taught her children that cleanliness and order were praised in the eyes of God. It may have been a small relief, but it was a relief nonetheless. 

Hurriedly, Credence worked up a lather and ran the soap over his body before handing it to the next boy. He tried to touch himself as little as possible, aware of the others standing so close. Everyone washed in silent compliance. The icy water stopped stinging so badly once his fingers and toes went numb, and Credence even bowed his head under the jetting spray to rinse some grease out of his hair.

As always, any silence that grew too comfortable was quickly corrected.

"Wash everywhere!" a nasally voice cut through the air.

Credence rubbed water from his eyes and squinted toward the source of the voice. It was the wizard who'd followed them in the rear. Credence had hardly cast him a glance, but now that he saw the man stalking forward with his hands behind his back and his long, pointed nose held high in the air, Credence knew at once that this was someone he would hate. The wizard had sky blue eyes squinted into thin slits, and a single streak of yellow facial hair that lay like a pondering finger from his chin to his bottom lip.

"I see a lot of dirty bottoms!" he scolded, displeasure in his tone but a grin on his narrow face. "We don't want dirty bottoms here at camp. You there, lad..."

The man pointed, and Credence followed his finger to a confused little boy with smooth, creamed coffee skin and a mop of black curls. Adam, Credence recalled. He'd thought the boy was a girl at first, and so had the wizards; they'd peeked inside his waistband before sorting him into the boys' line. Adam seemed like he was barely keeping up, and Credence suspected his German wasn't very good.

"Yes... master?" Adam asked, his accent thick.

"Show your muggle friends how to wash. Get some lather on that hand."

When Adam just stood and stared, the wizard grasped his wrist roughly and pressed the soap to his palm, rubbing in harsh circles until Adam's palm was dripping with lather.

"Now put it here."

The wizard wrenched the boy's arm behind his back and thrust it at the crack between the boy's lower cheeks.

The boy went rigid, and so did Credence. 

A lot of the nearby boys froze as well, and the wizard looked up at them with his brows raised and a falsely sincere smile on his face. “That’s right, watch closely now.” 

Credence was sure the boy’s face would have been red if it hadn’t gone white from the cold and probably the fear. But even though the fear was evident on his face, he did his best to stand there and comply with the way the wizard was moving his hand. He looked like he just wanted it to be over with as fast as possible. 

“Now then, time for the other side.” 

The wizard lathered up Adam’s hands again, and this time he cringed, knowing what was coming before his hand was brought down between his legs. The wizard worked the boy’s hand over his small cock and balls, up and down in a way that was difficult to watch. In any other situation, it might have looked pleasurable. It did not seem to be so now. 

Soon enough, the wizard deemed his demonstration finished and rinsed off his hand. Adam trembled where he stood, and Credence could understand why he didn’t dare move away, even if he was technically released. 

The wizard glanced around. “What are you waiting for, your turns?”

With that simple question, all the boys jumped back into motion, grabbing for the soap and washing their private parts before they could be told they weren’t doing it properly. That they needed ‘help’.

The wizard shook his hand, dried it with a flick of his stick, and then folded his arms behind his back again before he paced the length of the showers. 

His colleagues did not intervene. Credence glanced at them out of the corner of his eye and found them still on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall in subdued conversation, looking bored. Even the one who had ripped his shirt before, but hadn’t been worse than he’d needed to be. 

For some reason, Credence wished he could plead with them for help. It was irrational, maybe, but it twisted in his chest, that they were just sitting there like they didn’t care. His desperation rapidly turned into anger. That same deep, compressed, but quiet loathing.

Credence felt like a different person when he let that anger overtake him. It had come upon him before, when he stewed alone in his room after Ma had inflicted some injustice, or when he stood on the open street and endured the heckles and shoves of passers-by. He couldn't control when it happened, and he couldn't fully recall what it was like when he was free of it. His anger was much like a dream in that way.

But he did know how to clutch it when it came. He knew how to burrow in deep and let it blacken his every thought. When he was afraid, he couldn't remember what it was like to be angry—but likewise, when he was angry, he couldn't remember what it meant to be afraid.

Credence let the anger thicken his blood. He sank deeper than he ever had before. Anger was a harrowing, bottomless thing that threatened to erase his very identity—but that didn't matter so much anymore. Not here, where his identity had already been taken. Here, where his name was Muggle.

When the wizard looked his way, the anger that wore Credence's face looked him in the eye. Anger lowered his hand to his genitals and worked them slowly in a lather, squeezing at the base so that his sac grew taut and almost painful. The whole while, he seethed with a single, throbbing fixation: that he wanted the wizard dead. He truly, guiltlessly, with all his being, wanted the wizard dead.

The wizard only smirked, and moved along. He exacted no punishment for Credence's impertinent eye-contact.

After their showers, the boys were given new clothes to wear. They seemed like nothing more than the laundered garments of other residents, except that all their color had been transformed into the same dull, stormy gray. They had trouble finding something suitable for Credence ("Damn skinny runt...") and one of the wizards shrank a larger garment with his magic stick. Although it fit in the end, it sat awkwardly high on his waist, so that Credence couldn't raise his arms without showing his midline.

He didn't care.

He didn't care about anything.

All he focused on was not letting the anger slip away. It normally left him after he'd exhausted himself, or slept, but he didn't want that. Once it was gone, and the fear crept back in, he knew it might be impossible to rekindle until chance struck again. He had to keep those embers stoked and burning low in his core.

It didn't hurt his dignity so much to follow their orders if he wrapped his obedience in the seething, irrational conviction that he would one day kill them all.

He managed to keep it up through another hours-long session of work outside. Mind-numbing busywork that the wizards could have done themselves had they wanted to, but it seemed they thought that a part of the boys’ “learning” should involve rigorous manual labor. It wasn’t difficult to stay angry for so long when one of the wizards laughed when telling them they’d be moving bags of flour from one store room to another, and said it built character. 

The boys were not given carts or tools of any sort, and each bag weighed as much or more than some of them. It was a long and arduous task that required at least three, sometimes four to grip and carry the bags from one building to another, but Credence bore the strain with tight lips and cold burning inside his chest. 

It helped keep him going, he thought. Although it was just as hard not to let the anger take over and tire him out too quickly by working too hard. 

By the time they were finished, the sun was low in the sky and the boys were clean no longer, but at least they were not as dirty as they had been that morning. 

They were made to wash their hands and then given dinner—in the same bowls they were given for breakfast. But it was soup this time, with a single, stale portion of bread beside it.

Credence’s heart sank when he saw the meal. He had not been fed particularly well at Ma’s table, but it had been more than this. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew it would be hard to hold onto the anger if he got too hungry. He’d gone without meals before, when he was being punished, sometimes for days at a time if it was particularly bad, and remembered well how the pit of his stomach consumed every other emotion he had when it was empty of food. 

Prickles of worry threatened somewhere inside him, but he forced himself to focus as they ate. Still only fifteen minutes of time to consume their soup and bread, but as long as they had two regular meals a day, even if they were not particularly big, Credence thought he could manage. 

He could beat the fear. He hoped.

* * *

A shrill whistle pierced the air.

"Out of bed! Three, two, one-"

"Done," Credence croaked. He wasn't awake yet, but his legs were under him. His body had learned to move without him over the course of the past week. It was strange how quickly new routines became habit. Became programmed. Became... normal.

"Ten minutes start now," the wizard drawled, bored, before stepping out to light a smoke. That was Rumples. Generally bored with his duties and irate about his unglamorous posting, watching a bunch of snotty kids. Pros: He was unlikely to be harsher than he had to and he generally preferred to leave them alone if he got the same in return. Cons: He couldn't be swayed with sweetness, simpering, or flesh—and if annoyed, he went straight for a zapping hex.

This, too, had quickly become a daily reality: weighing the threats and moods of their captors. Credence had learned that the wizard who tormented Adam in the showers was called Snarlack, and he had only one pro: he only tended to single out one person at a time. When he was around, the boys did their best to be the least interesting of the crowd. But Snarlack seemed to have a special ability to sense the person who was feeling weakest inside, and got very creative with his public humiliations.

The wizard who had torn Credence's shirt was Ambrose. He had deep, soulful eyes, and gave off this deceptive air that he was someone a boy could turn to. Run to. Talk to. But he never interfered when the other wizards punished them, and on the rare occasion he laid down a punishment of his own, it was terrifying, and reminded them all that they had no friends there.

He never punished Adam, though. Credence's every waking moment was a tense vigil, observing every detail of his surroundings and reading them for ways to survive. He hadn't missed the way Adam and Ambrose would sometimes go missing at the same time, nor the way Adam's bowl seemed a little fuller than everyone else's when Ambrose was ladling.

"All in line?" Rumples grumbled, sticking his head back in and crushing his fag just outside their door, where it joined a graveyard of its brothers.

"Yes, master," they said as one voice.

This was still what they called the wizards—and the wizards still called them "muggle." But there was a strange intimacy hidden behind this erasure of names and identity. The boys only knew the wizards' first names because they only heard them when the wizards were talking with one another, on a first-name basis. And so in their private chatter, after lights out, those names were spoken aloud. The wizards, meanwhile, did the same: they called the boys by their given names when discussing them amongst each other, and occasionally the boys overheard it.

It was hard not to feel an illusion of familiarity. Like they were all just trapped in the same sorry play together, acting out different parts. Credence wanted to hate them all, all the time—but on most days, he only had enough anger inside for one. Somehow they managed to keep him just hungry enough, just sleepy enough, and just tired enough to stay acquiescent. While at the same time, just fed enough, rested enough, and engaged enough for hard labor. This didn't leave enough fuel for Credence to nurse his anger indiscriminately—unless it was Snarlack overseeing their activities. He always had a special reserve of hatred ready for Snarlack.

"Is this block C? Where on earth are you taking them—they can't look like this. You have to take them to the showers, get them fitted with fresh clothes."

One of the female wizards from the girl's side of camp had stopped their little column to talk with Rumples. Credence groaned internally. All he could think about was his breakfast.

"What? Why? Their clothes are fine."

"Gracious me—haven't you heard?"

"Heard what? No one ever tells me anything around here."

" _He's_ coming, you fool. They set out from Glastaug this morning."

Credence kept his eyes lowered, and couldn't see Rumples' face—but he could see his hands. 

They were shaking.

This sounded like something bad, but Credence couldn’t put it into context. Who could these wizards be afraid of? He didn’t even recognize the name of the city, and Ma had taken her children out canvassing in a lot of cities. 

“ _What_? Why didn’t anyone _fucking_ tell me?” Rumples turned and paced a few steps away and then back again, his movements suddenly full of anxiety. “We’ve been out in the field for hours.”

“Well that’s probably why you weren’t told,” the woman shot back. “Just hurry up.” She stalked off, but not back towards the girls’ dorms. More likely, she was making rounds through the camp, looking for any other blocks who hadn’t heard the news. 

Rumples didn’t waste any time stewing after that. “Change of plan; we’re headed to the showers. _Move_.” 

Whatever was causing this anxiety in the wizards spread quickly to the boys. Down the line, everyone stiffened and walked hurriedly behind Rumples, their short legs struggling to keep stride with his rushed pace. 

They passed another line on the way, and Credence was almost startled to see them. In the week he’d been there, Credence hadn’t seen any children as clean as they were and wearing clothing in such good condition. Each one of them had crisp, brown button-up shirts, a light jacket, a belt, and trousers. Some even sturdy, clean shoes. He only caught sight of them at a glance, but the difference was glaring.

Whatever was going on, Credence did not like it. If he’d learned anything since he’d arrived, it was that unexpected changes did not bode well. He wished he could have felt some satisfaction over how nervous Rumples had suddenly become, but it only made him feel the same way. 

It wasn’t just the woman and Rumples who’d been late doing whatever they were supposed to do. Every wizard they passed walked with quicker steps and a tense disposition. Their cloaks billowed out behind them in impressive and intimidating displays. Credence sometimes suspected this was intentional, but just now, it seemed rather due to their pace.

None of the boys dared to say a word out of turn under the new atmosphere. They stayed silent as Rumples led them into the showers and told them to hurry up and wash while he waved his wand—the proper name for those magic sticks, Credence had learned—and sent what looked like a shimmering, silver fox running off through the wall. 

“I’ve sent for your new clothes,” he announced. “I want you to be clean, dried, and ready when they arrive.”

Credence scrubbed diligently. He knew he should let the anxiety overtake him—ready him for whatever lay ahead. His caution should be on high alert, his obedience at the tip of his reflexes.

Instead, he felt… awake. The adrenaline of facing down some change of pace, some _relief_ from the tedium, made him feel more reckless than cautious. The new charge in the air was thrilling. It tasted of anticipation, and the more Credence saw his tormentors wring their hands and exchange nervous glances, the more emboldened he felt. There was something in this world even wizards feared; something they couldn’t wave those stupid sticks at and dismiss. All the anger he had nursed hatched inside him, but what came out of the egg was something new. Credence tried to put a word to it as he watched Rumples and the others sweat, rushing to and fro as they brought the freshly washed children out to the main path. The wizards shouted angry instructions and repinned their own uniforms and used their wands to clear clutter and shine windows—tasks that would have taken the children days.

Not hatred, Credence thought. The feeling was too merry for that. In fact, it was almost… light. As if Credence might float away with it. He watched a wizard trip over his own cloak in his hurry, and felt the most peculiar sensation in his face. The urge to smile.

“Form a line. Form a _line!_ ” A woman wizard was herding the children with erratic wand movements, shouting so loudly that her voice sounded hoarse and broken. There were no rhymes now, no clever punishments. Everyone was shuffled into place outside their blocks so that they stood facing in toward the broad center pathway that divided the girls’ and boys’ sides of camp. It wound all the way down to the sinister iron gate—a structure Credence thought of as simply part of the wall, and not as an exit.

“…Do you know what they’re fussing about?” asked Johan.

Credence shrugged, but the boy next to him—Willem, who was a long-time resident—chuckled and leaned in to answer in a hushed tone.

“The boss is coming, I reckon.”

Something tingled in the back of Credence’s mind.

“The boss…?”

The other two boys looked at him, somewhere between impressed and shocked.

“…You can talk.”

Credence scowled.

“Of course I can talk.”

“Didn’t think you knew no other words than ‘yes master’,” Willem laughed.

Credence’s shoulders hunched up to his ears, but the scowl remained. It was rare that the boys could talk for long unless they were in their bunks under lights out or quietly during meals, but right then the wizards were so distracted making sure everything was set and ready. Credence didn’t find himself much inclined to reply, however. 

Instead, his mind cast back to the first meal he’d had at the camp, when one of the boys had mentioned a Commander Grindelwald. This was the commander that had sacked his city, but neither Credence nor the boys who had been there for a time knew any details about the man. They’d all been kept behind magic bars before they were sent off to camp, so most of what they knew was second-hand rumor. There were probably dozens of factions in the wizard’s army, but Credence wondered if this same commander was who they meant by ‘boss’. 

The other boys went silent as a pair of wizards strode by in a hurry. 

All along the line of children, Credence could see heads turning this way and that. The strange sense of both excitement and apprehension filled them all. He hadn’t realized how _many_ they were, though—not until they were all in lines like this along the pathway. He could see the girls now, still separated from the boys, but gathered in neat and orderly rows across from them.

Credence was beginning to wish he could chase away this irrational feeling of excitement. The way the wizards around them looked to be in a mild panic told him that he should have reason to worry. His survival instincts were usually better than this, even if he thought they deserved the fear for a change. 

His thoughts were interrupted, however, by a shrill sound cutting through the air. It vaguely resembled the wail of a trumpet. 

Quiet conversation in the lines died instantaneously. As did all sound throughout the camp, except for the rustling of cloaks and heavy footfalls as the last of the wizards ran to their positions. 

The hair on the back of Credence’s neck stood on end. 

He stopped breathing when the shimmering, faintly iridescent colors of the iron gates began to glow. He could see it even from where they stood down the path, and he could feel static in the air as the glow magnified. 

With a heavy groan, the gates swung open.

Beyond was an endless expanse of flat, lifeless soil that stretched into the blue haze of the distance, where it met the dreary, pale milk of the overcast sky. Credence couldn’t believe they had marched across that distance. During that time, all he’d been able to think of was the next step, and the next. What all those steps had added up to took his breath away.

But it also confused him. What were they opening the gates for? An empty field?

He looked around for answers, but the wizards were all fixed in a stalwart pose, their backs as rigid as their uniforms, staring straight ahead. Some of the other children looked as confused as Credence, craning their necks as far as they dared, squinting at the open gates.

The silence stretched on—and then, quite from thin air, a black figure appeared upon the landscape.

The figure seemed a mirage at first. But with each yard of their ominous approach, new details came into relief. The figure was a rider upon a long-legged, dark horse, and as they passed through the gates, Credence could see the sharp, black uniform of their wizard oppressors. From a distance, Credence thought the rider’s face was masked as well, but was startled to realize the wizard’s skin was almost as black as the cloak that flapped behind them. Credence had never seen such a person before; not in real life. As the horse trod slowly up the path, he realized the rider was a woman, with a hundred lush braids spilling down her back, and a wand of bleached white bone at her hip. She came to a halt a few feet from where Credence stood, and surveyed the area with sharp, scrutinizing eyes. Some of the wizards grew a little taller, almost on their toes with their efforts to straighten their backs.

When she had combed through the crowd with her gaze, the woman reached for a small, seashell whistle that she wore about her neck. It was so small that she held it between thumb and forefinger, but when she blew into it, the commanding vibration of a trumpet sounded throughout the camp. At such a short distance, it was so loud that Credence’s ears still rang when the sound faded.

“Muggles!” the woman roared. Credence’s bladder twitched with animal fear at the sound of her voice. “Bow your heads! You are not worthy to look upon the Commander!”

Credence had never looked at his feet so quickly—and he was usually quick about that whether anyone told him to or not. The camp guards’ attempts to project authority suddenly seemed forced and pitiable when stacked against this single rider. The clopping of hooves resumed, and Credence did not release the air in his lungs until the woman was well past.

His new clothes were well-ironed and free of all the stains that marked his gray work clothes. The fabric had not worn away at the knees, all the buttons were there, and it even fit him decently. His shoes, though. His shoes were still caked with a cracking layer of mud. Bits of straw had stuck from the floor of his dorm, and though he could not see the hole, Credence’s left sock was always moist and cold about the toes.

What a farce it was to dress them up prim and pretty for this _commander. _In all his time there, Credence hadn’t really questioned _why_ this was happening to him, or who orchestrated it, or to what end. But now, the _reason_ his life was what it had become would pass in front of him, and he wasn’t even allowed to look.__

__Credence thought back to the night of the attack. His mind instantly conjured images of fire and sounds of screaming; a whirlwind of terrifying sensations that always pushed him away when he glanced toward his memories. This time, however, Credence pushed back. He tried to remember the wizards who had taken Ma’s church, wondering if any of their faces were about to march before him._ _

__He reached… and he reached… and found nothing._ _

__The dim drone of hooves approaching in scores began to fill the air, and Credence started to lose his mind. He approached the memory from many different angles. What was he doing just _before_ the attack? Was he in bed? In the chapel? He couldn’t say. What about the army camp, before the march? He knew he’d been in a moving camp, surrounded by soldiers and glowing bars—knew it as a fact. But when he tried to summon a single image or sensation of that time, they slithered away from him before he could look too closely. The smell of horses was burning the inside of Credence’s nostrils, and the shadows of tall riders overtook him. A chilling conclusion gripped his body as a full procession crowded the path, while Credence stared blindly at his shoes._ _

___He didn’t remember._ Not one thing._ _

__His hands began to shake at his sides and he balled them into fists so tight that his nails dug into the scars on his palms. The flame of anger he had so carefully nursed in his core found dry tinder, and went up in an all-consuming rage. It was one thing for them to take his freedom, and his time, and his fate. But they’d done worse. They’d taken his _memories_. They’d reached into his _head_ and ripped out a piece of Credence that made him who he was. His head! It was supposed to be the one, sacred place he could always retreat to._ _

__Wizards’ faces and the flashes of spells flickered through his mind’s eye, warped and blurring. His desire to see them dead crystallized into raw, murderous power, too hot and bright for his tiny body, and Credence felt that if he just opened his mouth, it would shoot out of him like dragon’s breath and consume them all._ _

__Instead, he raised his eyes._ _

__The gleam of a horse’s shoes caught him off guard. They were so close, he nearly jumped back, but the stubborn stiffness of his bones saved him. His body froze to the spot. Their hooves flashed barely yard away in a slow trot. The animals were straining against the slow pace, lifting their legs and slicing their hooves through the air, excited to be within the walls of civilization again._ _

__Their riders were stone-faced. Some wore great cloaks that fell loose over their horse’s backs. The material was so dark it appeared to suck up the light of the sun that filtered down upon them through the dull clouds overhead. They would have looked like faces floating in darkness had he not known what they were._ _

__He could hear his own breathing amid the heavy clatter of the horses and the clank of metal from somewhere further down the line._ _

__These wizards did not look like the ones who kept watch over the camp. Some of their faces were as dark as the herald’s. Others were ghostly white. All appeared to have a singular focus. Even when their eyes cast around the camp and took it in, they were above it. The dirt and the mud there would not stain their clothes or get under their nails like it did Credence’s. They were not the pristine and delicate fairy creatures that he had imagined in Ma’s tales of the wicked, but after one glance at them, he knew that the filth and grime of every “muggle” in this camp would not touch them._ _

__Credence’s fists clenched harder. He should have expected that, but the hate in him coiled tighter._ _

__With his head bowed and his shoulders hunched, he glanced down the procession, imagining every figure clad in leather straps and thick wool tailoring were the demons of Hell. The anger inside him hissed like a living thing. He was ready to fight them. His rational mind and his survival instinct froze his feet to the ground, but they could not stop the roiling, churning thing inside him yearning for revenge._ _

__The formation of riders changed suddenly. They’d marched in pairs and threes before, but then there came a line of them side by side so tight together they formed a wall. These wizards carried iron shields before their bodies, shimmering in spite of the dull light and threatening to glint in Credence’s eye, so he glanced away again._ _

__They looked like knights._ _

___All the King’s horses, and all the King’s men_ danced in Credence’s head in an inopportune rhyme. _ _

__A blood red banner waved over the heads of the men who followed the wall, and something in the air changed. It was the wizards from the camp standing beside the boys. Credence could see them out of the corner of his eye. One dropped his gaze to his shoes even though he held his head high. The others stopped blinking._ _

__This was it._ _

__Credence lifted his eyes again, past the flash of hooves and past leather gloves gripping horses’ reins as the men behind the wall of shields came into view. His gaze instantly locked onto one man in particular, who was cloaked in heavy furs and riding atop a white horse, with crimson sleeves visible above his gloves._ _

__Everything inside of Credence and around him was telling him not to let his eyes raise any further, but he could not stop himself._ _

__The Commander of this army of death, of all that was and all that would ever be of Credence’s life now, approached before him._ _

__It wasn’t Ma or the people of his city he thought of when he made the decision to raise his eyes further. It was only himself. If these wizards could get into his mind, then Credence had a mind no longer. His only refuge was gone. Without that, he may as well disobey, for he may as well be dead._ _

__And so be it._ _

__Credence followed the heavy furs up straight-cut shoulders and was met with the face of a man with ivory blond hair, pale skin, and a clever mustache between his smirking mouth and sharp cheekbones. A striking man. More striking than Credence had anticipated._ _

__The Commander cast his narrowed eyes over the camp and down the line of its inhabitants as his horse pressed forward, taking in details in a roving gaze that Credence ignored in favor of studying the man’s features. It was while following the handsome cut of his jaw to the shadow of his cheekbones that Credence found himself drawn up to the man’s eyes, and realized where he was looking._ _

__He was looking down at the children._ _

__Credence stiffened._ _

__From the height of his horse, this regal figure had eyes for nothing in the camp but them. They were the smallest, most pitiful creatures of all that lived within the walls. His gaze should have been anywhere else._ _

__Credence realized too late what was going to happen. He was supposed to be small. Supposed to be meek and unnoticeable. But among all the children, only his own eyes were upturned, and the great Commander’s gaze was moving down the line._ _

__It fell upon him next._ _

__Their eyes met and held. Credence could not move and he could not think. He floated on adrenaline, caught in the man’s eyes and only dazedly realizing they were mismatched. One was dark and the other light. Both focused on him with great intent, but no expression._ _

__Credence could not break free, and for a long, perilous moment, it seemed that the Commander did not want him to._ _

__It was over as quickly as it started._ _

__The horses passed. Credence’s eyes, burning, dropped to the ground, but not before he caught sight of another rider at the Commander’s shoulder, who leaned in close to say something. It was the scar on the side of his face that seared into Credence’s mind: a pink, angry gouge that started just under the grey at his temple and ran down his cheek to the base of his jaw._ _

__Credence did not look up again._ _


	2. Chapter 2

When Credence went to bed that night, there was nothing but bleak sky above the camp wall.

When he woke up the next morning, there was a castle.

At least, it looked like a castle at first glance. The reality was far more astounding. Credence gaped at the structure on his way to morning chores, and tilted his head so far back to look that he almost lost his balance. The boy behind him was similarly afflicted, and stepped on Credence’s heel.

“Ow,” he whispered.

In the line ahead of them, one boy straight up collided with another.

“Oh _stop_ ,” Rumples groaned. “Go on. Everyone take a nice, long gander. Get it out of your little systems.”

The boys stared with their mouths open in stupor.

A second camp, comprised of tents, had sprung up beside theirs. Only, it didn’t spread out—it spread _up_. Tents hovered in mid-air, as fixed as if they’d been on solid ground. Rolls of long carpet connected them—flat where they were of a level, or falling in neat steps as if draped on invisible stairs where the levels changed. There were larger areas where the carpets splayed out into courtyards amid the maze of walkways, and Credence could see wizards milling upon them as calm as if they had wings. The lowest tents hovered just above the walls of the muggle camp, and were spread far and wide, while the higher tents were crowded more narrowly, so that the overall structure took on a jagged, pyramid shape. The higher tents were larger and lusher, with golden tassels on the ropes that bound their doorways, and crests sewn into their heavy fabrics. At the very top of the stack was a tent that stood alone above all others, cut from a deep red crimson and walled with shimmering shields. Bright red standards flapped upon posts along its walls, and from its center pierced a pole that bore an ominous black flag with some white design in its center. All told, the structure was so tall that its spotted shadows fell over the entirety of the children’s camp. Credence had to squint to make out the design on the black flag, which seemed hardly the size of his thumbnail from so far below. It eluded him until a strong gust of wind stretched it taut, and Credence felt gooseflesh rise down his spine.

It was the symbol on his forearm.

“Had your fill? I know it’s terribly exciting, but toilets still need scrubbing. This is naught to do with you lot. Best put it out of your minds and focus on your studies. Right then—march!”

Credence marched, but he cast every glance he could spare at the vertical camp. He saw a witch and wizard on a lower courtyard, shooting magic at each other—apparently for sport. One of them skirted dangerously close to the edge of the carpet and the other cast some magic that tugged her back, and the two hugged companionably. All up and down, within the innumerable zig-zags of the camp, flashes of colored lights were sparking, objects were floating, and even _people_ were floating. Credence gaped as he saw a wizard fly up a level on what looked like a common broom. Elsewhere, a wizard levitated an entire tea set from one tent down to another below, and the recipient waved their thanks. There were hair colors such as Credence had never seen, and skin tones he’d only read about, and men and women mingling as if their genders were invisible.

“Everyone grab a brush! Two to a bucket. It’s your block’s turn to make the rounds and scrub the privies. The other boys do the same for you. You don’t want Snarlack to see any dirty bottoms, do you? Hop to it.”

Credence wanted to summon his usual, low-burning anger to see him through his task—but for the first time, a conflicting feeling doused the flames. Until that morning, Credence had only seen magic as something that destroyed, or caused pain. It was a weapon: one that had marked him, lashed him, raped his mind, and obliterated his home. The sight of a wand had aroused only the infuriating injustice of an unfair upper hand. But now…. Now, for the first time, Credence looked at magic and felt wonder.

Credence was only disappointed that the privies were inside. His gaze was torn from the floating spectacle overhead when they were led into the small toilets a couple blocks down. As soon as it was out of sight, a weight settled upon him again. Most boys covered their noses when they visited this building. Cleaning it was an exercise in olfactory torture when it went neglected long enough, which was very much the case when they entered and settled in to work. 

Their wizard guards never used such places. Credence didn’t know where they went instead, but he never thought about it either. With the way they treated the boys, Credence barely thought of them as human, magic or not. 

It was strange to look upon his captors, now, after having glimpsed another class of wizards in the procession the day prior. Credence saw them in a new light. He had known they were petty, had known they were bitter, angry, bored, and insufferable beings who did nothing but run the camp, watch over muggle children, and attempt to teach them the superiority of wizards. On a mental level, he knew they were human, or close to it, but on an instinctual level they may as well have been a pantheon of gods. They had no pity. Their only enjoyments seemed to come from ignoring the boys or humiliating them. Little kindnesses, or acts that were at the very least not cruel, were few. 

All of them paled in comparison to the army that made camp next door. 

Credence knew not to rest his hopes on this difference. All he had to do was remember the herald’s words, commanding muggles to bow their heads—threatening, regardless of how ethereal she had been. Instead, he preferred to think about the glimpses he saw of their tents from below, as he got down on his knees with a brush and did his best not to breathe through his nose. Or mouth. Did his best not to think about the grime and the stench right in front of him. He preferred to think of floating broomsticks and levitating tea sets. It was easier to think of these wizards from a distance, when they were not paying attention to him or any other muggles. He wondered what their lives were like on a normal morning. Sparring? Tea? How long had the structure of tents taken to set up, and how had they done it? 

His mind took him away from the scrubbing, and the bodies of the other boys around him. They crawled around on the floor, hunching and squatting and trying to keep their voices from bouncing off the walls while they whispered to each other. His peers were desperate to break the monotony, but Credence didn’t care what they had to say. 

He tried to edge himself closer to the door, just to get a glimpse of the structure outside, while he dug his brush into the cracks between the tiles. He was so close. Glance and scrub, glance and scrub, he caught the edge of it in the distance and could make out some of the floating staircases and long ribbons of cloth flying in the air. 

A burst of pain and fire spread through the back of his skull and Credence was flat on the ground before he could register the blow. He let out a sound, but could barely hear it over the ringing in his ears. He’d been caught entirely off guard. 

“What did I say about distractions?” Rumples’ leather boot stomped down next to his face. 

Credence winced and froze. He couldn’t remember the last time Rumples hit one of the boys without warning. 

“We’re going to be putting on our _very best behaviour_ around here from now on, and that means you’re to be attentive to your duties and nothing else. At all times. Do you understand me?” 

For a long moment, Credence remained frozen. All he could muster was a blank stare at Rumples’ boot. This close, he could smell the leather, even over the stench of the privies. He could see every pore of the material; every ridge in the soles. The sensations lured something forth from the unlit corners of his mind. 

_’This will help.’_

A voice spoke in Credence’s head, but it wasn’t his own. Though the voice was almost a whisper, its phantom presence reverberated so loudly inside his skull that Credence thought his head might split open. He let out a distress yowl, but that only intensified the pain, and his hands came shooting up to press at his temples.

“For fuck’s sake… None of that, now. Get up.”

Credence didn’t want Rumples to strike him again, and tried to force his body to obey. But when he lifted his head, it felt like his brain had come loose and was sloshing around inside at the slightest movement.

He fell back onto his stomach, and retched.

“Shit… _shit._ Disgusting, agh…!” Rumples jumped back to protect his leather boots, clasping his wand with impotent uncertainty. Even all the powers of the universe condensed into one wooden stick didn’t do much good if the man couldn’t think of how to use them.

The other boys had paused their labors to watch the scene. They corrected that mistake when Rumples whirled on them with his wand still in hand, its vicious point threatening them all in its sweep.

“Get back to work!” he barked, though the edge of anxiety in his voice undermined his authority somewhat. It also made him seem unstable, and the boys hurried to bow their heads and scrub, not wanting to agitate him further. “Right… okay…”

Rumples turned back to Credence.

“You didn’t hit your head _that_ hard,” he insisted. “You just-… Go sleep it off in your dorm.”

It was panic that put Credence back on his feet. He couldn’t be sick. He couldn’t be hurt. Not here. There were stories that ran through the camp about what happened to defective muggles. He’d heard of one boy in particular who had come down with a serious wasting sickness—cholera, some of the boys had guessed, eyeing the well at the center of the blocks, though none knew for sure. It had been mid-summer then, under uncommonly blazing heat and air thick with humidity—the kind that could be felt before a storm. According to a boy who’d gone in for stitches, even the air in the hospital block had been oppressive. 

The wizards could have healed him, the other children told the newcomers. At least, they thought so, because there didn’t seem to be anything the wizards couldn’t do. But Snarlack had said it was a distasteful muggle disease, and gone on about how sad it was that they would have to prevent a contagion spreading. 

Credence hadn’t understood until Willem explained that boy hadn’t been seen at the camp again. A day later, the storm had broken, and everyone had moved on. 

Blinking, Credence tried to clear his head and make his insides feel stable again. He couldn’t tell what was anxiety and what was real disorientation anymore, so he just nodded and gave a quick, “Yes, master,” and then tried to move as fast as he could out of the stinking shack. 

Stepping into the shadow of the new and ethereal structure overhead did not bring Credence up short this time. He barely looked at it as he made his way back to block C, his stomach twisting in knots all the way. Its presence only felt looming now. 

The arrival of the army was going to change things, Credence could tell, as he laid down to bed in the empty, musty dorm with daylight and distant sounds outside reminding him that this bit of respite was an unprecedented privilege. Even having been there just a week, he could feel the difference in the air; in Rumples and the others who stalked about like they were being watched and too obviously tried to keep the status quo. The new tension in the atmosphere was seeping into the boys as well, making them extra vigilant and quick to obey.

Credence didn’t know what the changes would mean for them. He was only grateful that his head wasn’t hurt as much as Rumples feared, and he was able to rest soundly through the remainder of the day.

* * *

Credence didn’t have to wait long to see changes take hold.

Everywhere he looked, there were now three times as many black cloaks fluttering about. The wizards from the Commander’s camp were a different breed than the guards, identifiable by their confident strides and vivacious energy. Whereas the guards had long languished in this bleak and tiresome place, babysitting muggles, the wizards from the army had been on the road of conquest, and still burned with the sweet intoxication of recent victories. It was evident that they looked down on the witches and wizards who’d been left to rot in this place, and this realization was a paradigm shift for the boys. Before, there had been only two classes: muggles, who were beasts, and wizards, who were gods. Now, the tiers of those hierarchies had expanded and invited new complexities, much like the pyramid that loomed above the grounds.

The smell of horse was strong about the camp, and Credence soon learned that the army’s mounts were kept just beyond the wall, below the bottom tier of the pyramid. Mucking their shit and carrying pales of water from the well for their troughs fell to the muggles, and for the first time since their arrival, some of the children found themselves outside of the wall. Credence was one of the children to draw such a lot, and now he lined up three times a week to be marched beyond the gate by army wizards, while the rest of his block were led away by guards for their usual rotation of camp chores.

This was an exciting notion at first, but the children realized quickly that the symbolic freedom of being on the other side of the wall was not worth very much. They were still supervised closely, and the work was not any easier.

Nor were the army wizards any kinder.

They learned this on their second outing, and the lesson pierced deep. One girl was so desperate to escape, something about being on the outside of the wall had lit a spark in her, and she’d decided to run. Credence tried to imagine what must have gone through her mind. Perhaps she’d felt emboldened by the way these new wizards were always laughing, talking amongst themselves, and ignoring the children. She might have had some delusional notion that they wouldn’t notice, or that they simply wouldn’t care if they saw one little cut of meat running into the open distance. 

He would never know. He had looked on helplessly from the boys’ line as the girls’ column halted to observe the runner’s attempt. The two witches at the head of the line had merely stood with their arms folded and watched for a time, tilting their heads close and exchanging a few comments. Then, when the running girl was growing small in the distance, one of the witches had lifted her wand, as casually as if she were brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, and with a single spoken word, the distant girl had erupted into a massive red spray.

Credence could still see that red cloud when he closed his eyes. She had exploded into such a fine mist that it carried on the wind for a moment before it dissipated. All the children had stood mute, bloodless with shock at the brutality. In contrast to the guards, the witches had not spoken to them. No warnings about “this is what happens” or trumpeting about how “this is what muggles deserve.” Instead, the witches had simply resumed their conversation with one another and led the girls onward to their chores.

The incident had left him cold inside, and planted a dull ache of numbness in his chest. Before the army arrived, he hadn’t thought it possible to feel any glummer. As magnificent as their tower was, the ember of hope he’d carried that its presence might change things for the better had been snuffed out. 

Strangely, that loss did not take away the awe he felt around the new wizards. It was an unnerving sort of awe. He never dared to speak to the witches who led the children out to fetch water, nor any of their kind, unless it was specifically demanded of him—and it rarely was—but his eyes followed them wherever they went. 

The wizards who ran the camp still maintained most contact with the children. They still taught the lessons, and they were still unpleasant. Most of them—even Rumples—grew stricter under the watchful eyes of the army. 

It was not difficult to figure out why. Soon after their arrival came the inspections. Either alone or in pairs, wizards from the army came with scrolls of parchment and quills trailing in the air behind them to observe the children at work or in the classroom. They often spoke only to the wizards in charge, or asked simple questions of the children. _‘What have you been learning? What do you consider the qualities of a good muggle society? What would you like to do with your future, if you had one?’_

At that point, the boys knew how to answer. They had no future. If their masters were gracious enough to provide them with one, then they would use it to serve wizardkind and remain humble as muggles. 

The witches who questioned Credence cooed and remarked how adorable and well-trained he was. Their hats were almost as tall as he was, and their cheeks were smeared with bright purple rouge. He felt a bit bubbly despite himself, until one of them decided it was her right to reach out and pinch his cheek—while the other made a high pitched noise and squealed, “Ohh, you touched it!”

The witch who had pinched him wiped her fingertips on a pink, fragrant handkerchief that left the saccharine stench of roses in the classroom for the rest of the lesson. Whatever little boost Credence had felt was gone as quickly as it had come. Being seen as a novelty was not the same as being seen as a person.

He was grateful for the evening after lights out. Although they were stuck in the dark, and their blankets were threadbare defenders against the cold, they were at least blessedly alone. The wizards left them be until the morning whistle, and although loud noises would draw the guards, simple conversation would not. Whatever reticence the boys had felt at speaking their minds in that hushed hour had melted away as time passed and no consequences presented themselves. They were, by all appearances, free to complain about their overlords, lament their conditions, and dream of escape.

The only thing none of them ever did was reminisce about the past. This occurred to Credence as he lay in the dark of his bunk one night, listening to the soft chatter. He was always a listener; never a participant. As it sunk in that he’d never heard the boys discuss their lives before the camp, he had the panicked realization that he rarely thought about his life before, either. Not anymore.

What if that was gone, too? Credence reached back—and to his relief, could still recall his small room upstairs in Ma’s church. Could still recall services and sermons; mealtimes and routines. Long, sweltering days on the pavement, handing out pamphlets. Scrubbings. Beatings.

He closed his eyes and sighed into the dark. There wasn’t much in his past worth reflecting on.

“Has anyone ever tried to get out? At night, I mean. When they’re not watching us,” Willem asked the room.

“Why? There’s still the wall. Still the gate. We’re never getting past that.”

“Sure, but… I dunno, you could hide. Hide until the next time they open it-”

“And get splattered like that girl?”

“I’m just saying…”

“Oh give it up. It’s hopeless.”

Credence listened to the treasonous conversation with creeping tension in his body. Just then, the entire dorm lit up in a cool flash of white as lightning struck outside. He began to count silently inside his head. He seemed to remember learning somewhere that one could tell how far away a storm was by how many seconds there were between a flash of lightning and its accompanying thunderclap.

“Oy!” the English boy—Joseph—called out in a sharp whisper. “There’s someone right outside…!”

Thunder rumbled through the clouds, strong as the voice of god, before the boys could move. Credence felt his heart jump into his throat, and his body froze. Several of the others dove underneath the covers, fearful the figure might have seen them. 

“ _Shushhh!_ ” Joseph hissed, having hunkered down beneath the window.

There was a stir about the room as the boys whispered back and forth, trying to stay low, settle down in their beds, and remain alert all at the same time. Credence knew that if there was a wizard outside, looking into their window, then it was probably all for naught. They could easily be heard through the paper-thin walls.

But there was no one. He could see the window from his own bunk, and no dark figure moved across it or peered inside. 

With a rat-tat-tat- something sudden and sharp sounded against the roof. Again the boys jumped, this time casting their eyes to the ceiling, but the sound only came faster and within moments Credence knew what it was. 

Rain. 

Soft sighs of relief eminated from the corners of the room. But none of the boys moved yet. When Credence caught glimpses of them, they were casting their eyes about the room to be sure they were safe. All eventually landed on Joseph, who still looked pale. 

Finally, some of the boys sat up. 

“What’d you see?” someone whispered. It was so soft Credence couldn’t tell who. 

Moving just one limb at a time, Joseph began to crawl out from underneath the window. He still kept his head ducked down, and didn’t stray in front of it, but looked like he was going to check again. And he looked like he expected to find someone directly on the other side of the glass. 

He raised himself up just enough to peer out the corner of the glass into the dark of the yard, now glistening with rainfall. At first, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he turned to get a better view.

“There!” Joseph’s body stiffened at once. “There, look! That man over at block D, he was just here.” 

After a moment’s hesitation, the other boys rushed out of bed to see. Even Credence sat up and drew a little closer. 

Sure enough, not too far away, they saw a man dressed in the dark cloak of the army, partly obscured by sheets of rain. Straight-backed and square-shouldered as though the downpour didn’t bother him, he walked up to the dorm opposite their own, and loomed before the wall. 

Collectively, the boys of block C held their breath. 

Then something shimmered. At the man’s side, a warm, yellow glow began to form. Credence realised it was the tip of his wand. The light grew as he raised it up, drawing a long, elliptical shape. It did not reflect against the glass of their window nor the water pooling upon the ground. When the man pressed the tip of his wand against the side of the building, Credence’s eyes widened. 

The wizard had created an opening in the wall—one made of soft yellow light, which flickered orange around the edges and looked as warm as a campfire. Through it they could see the figures of the boys next door in their beds where they, too, appeared to be either resting and talking, unaware that they were being observed. 

The wizard stood for a long minute with the rain gliding off his back and the warm light casting onto his front. Its soft glow landed upon him alone, and though he was faced away, Credence could make out the same silver temple and slicked dark hair that he had seen on the man at the Commander’s side the day the army arrived. 

“What’s he doing?” Jeremy hissed.

“They _do_ watch us at night!” Cress squeaked, shrinking back. “See! See, I told you! Ohhh, they’re going to whip me for what I said about- about what you-know-who should put you-know-where…”

Credence moved up so that the tip of his nose pressed against the cool glass of the window. His vision fogged slightly with every breath. As he watched, the figure in the darkness twisted, as if looking over his shoulder at them. 

Credence sucked in a breath.

“Can he hear-” That was all he could get out before lightning flickered violently for several seconds and flashed a sharp, bright vision of the wizard’s face. 

A cold stab of fear thrust into Credence’s gut. Half of the man’s face was turned toward them, and it was… deformed. Monstrous. He’d seen the gash in passing, during the light of day—but here, with the unforgiving shadows of lightning, it was a thing of nightmares. The flesh was raised and warped in a ridge that ran from his temple to his jaw, and its path cut along the very corner of his eye and mouth, which dragged both down so that the lip of his lower eyelid folded over and his mouth seemed set in a permanent half-frown. 

Credence was still choking on his own racing heart when the thunder finally followed. The boys beside him appeared equally paralyzed.

“That’s Graves,” said a solemn voice behind them. All the boys twisted around to look. It was the oldest boy—Derik—whose voice had begun to change. None of them really knew what would happen to him when it did; what would happen to any of them.

“Graves…?” whispered Cress.

Derik nodded. “He’s the Commander’s right-hand man. If you can call him a man.”

“Oh… I’ve heard of him,” said Willem, his voice shaking. “That’s- that’s him?”

“Wh-… What’ve you heard?” Cress asked, anxious.

“That he’s… a monster. That-… that he goes out and hunts, when his master wants-” Willem gulped. “Human flesh.”

“I heard a boy in Block A talking…” Jeremy piped up, and all eyes turned on him. “Said-… He said-… That G-G-Graves never sleeps. So that he can g-g-guard his master. Even at night.”

“He’s loyal as a dog, that one,” Derik agreed. “D’you know…? How he got the scar…?”

The boys all drew close to hear the story, dodging low to stay out of sight from the window. Only Credence remained, still pressing his nose to the bottom pane and watching the figure in the rain.

“The Commander wanted to test if his loyal pet was really so loyal…. So he sent him on a special mission.”

A soft light began to grow at the end of Graves’ wand yet again, white and cool this time, like the lightning.

“Graves was taken prisoner… and _tortured._ ”

Credence saw a corresponding white light glow on the forearm of one of the boys across the way. It lit the boy’s face from below, making him look ghostly—but the boy didn’t seem to notice. No one around him reacted.

“They sliced him and sliced him, trying to make him give up his master’s secrets….”

The boy with the glowing arm was laughing with the others… but then seemed to grow distant and thoughtful. All expression gradually drained from his face until he seemed… empty. Trance-like.

“But no matter how bad they hurt him, Graves wouldn’t talk. So they told him they were going to use a special serum, to make him tell the truth. And what do you think Graves did?”

Credence watched as the glowing boy stood from his bunk, his motions mechanical.

“He bit through his own tongue.”

Graves held his wand raised patiently as the boy stepped out of the dorm, closing the door behind him, and walked calmly through the rain to meet the wizard. None of the boys inside so much as flinched or glanced toward the door when it opened. They kept on talking, oblivious.

“Of course it turned out that the Commander had been watching the whole thing. He fixed Graves’ tongue up with magic, but left all his cuts. Under his uniform there’s dozens more.”

Rumbling thunder was the only sound in the room as Derik concluded his tale, and Credence watched as Graves led the bewitched boy away to disappear behind glittering sheets of rain. The false window of yellow light the wizard left behind gradually smoldered shut like the edges of a page burning away.

“But where’s he taking that kid?” Cress asked the question Credence was desperate to ask, himself. 

It was hopeless to see the pair in the depths of the dark now, but still Credence remained at the window. He knew that whatever the reason this Graves had come for the boy, the show was over. He wasn’t going to see anything more, but he didn’t want to pull himself away either. The notion that any of the wizards could step into their dorms at any time, with them completely unaware, sent a chill through him. It locked up his bones and made his arms stiff and his fingers cold against the rough cut planks of the wall. 

“Nobody knows.” Derik lifted his chin. The room remained silent around him. “Most of us never knew they were gone. We don’t even know if they all come back. Nobody remembers.” 

Silence fell with Derik’s voice, and Credence finally turned from the window. The boys sat with ashen faces, none of them knowing what to say, but every one of them having the same sinking realization. They didn’t just need to worry about stepping out of line during the day. Any moment, without warning, this Graves could come and snuff out their lives in the middle of the night and there wouldn’t be a single thing they could do to prevent it. 

“ _Shit_ man….” One of the boys spoke up, but his voice cracked and the sound hit the pit of Credence’s stomach. By the look of everyone around the room, they all felt it. 

“Yeah.” Derik nodded, lips thin and eyes in the middle distance. His grandiose storytelling was over. 

The rain poured on. As far as they could tell, block D across from them slept soundly through the night without further disturbance. As they succumbed to tiredness and crawled back into their bunks, Credence wondered if anyone would tell the boys of block D what happened. Maybe it was a mercy not to share the terrible secret they had learned this night.

There was no more chatter, but every so often the sounds of fitful sleep would punctuate the stillness. 

Credence had nightmares, too. 

Sweltering nightmares. Nightmares so hot that he woke in the night to find his blankets damp with sweat, even as he lay shivering from the cold. He got up to piss in one of the pots and felt a little better when he laid back down, but as soon as he slipped back under, he was there in the furnace again, smoldering.

It wasn’t a fiery kind of heat. It was too damp for that. It was more of a suffocating compression, pressing him into the mattress until his body seemed to melt into the luxurious fibers. He could feel the sheets under his palms, thick and silken. He grasped onto them, twisting fistfuls of fabric as he gasped for air, and felt his lungs open gratefully—but then there was wetness in his mouth, clogging his breath, and he _writhed_ against the great weight that held him down. Everything was overwhelming. He wanted to say so, to beg for it to stop, but when he opened his mouth wider, the wetness slithered down his throat like a great, hard snake. He could feel the pressure of it behind his ribcage; could feel it tingling as it passed through his stomach; and then he felt it _down there_ , opening him up on the inside in a way he’d never felt before. He gasped, and realized he could breathe again, but the pressure between his legs was still immense. He clenched his jaw hard to endure it and closed his eyes tight- but they were already closed, and then closed again, and again, folding him into infinite darkness…

The whistle sounded.

Credence opened his eyes to light and sound and didn’t know where he was. A pair of legs dangled above him and then a boy came down with them, landed on the ground, and ran off. Others were hurrying about, a mass of frantic bodies, and with their urgency Credence came back to himself. He was in a re-education camp for muggles, and it was morning. He should be up with the rest of them. There wasn’t much time to get ready.

Pulling himself out of bed was a task. His limbs felt like dead weights. His sweat had dried and left him cold on one side and feeling distinctly unclean on the other. How warm his dreams had been compared to this…. His hair was matted to one side of his forehead and he tried to unstick it with marginal success. 

Finally awake enough, Credence grabbed his day clothes and hurried to get ready with the rest of the block. 

They were all still there, as far as Credence could see. That should have eased the tension creeping back into him as he recalled what he’d seen the night before—before sleep had muddled his mind—but it didn’t. 

Breakfast was a silent affair with the guards watching. Even if it was only Ambrose and Rumples, and not wizards from the Commander’s army, the boys stayed tight-lipped. The most they allowed themselves were a few glances exchanged across the table. Credence watched the silent communication, but he, not being a decision maker within the group, was not included. He spent his time sneaking glances to the other blocks as they passed in the yard or down the main path, but he had yet to catch sight of block D. 

To Credence’s gratitude, they were allowed a shower after their second shift of work, before lunch. He hated the cold, but he appreciated being clean. Today especially, when the uncomfortable dreams resurfaced in his memory whenever he touched the film of dried sweat on his skin. By lunch his knees were knocking together with cold, but at least he felt a little more refreshed. 

What none of them had been expecting was to arrive at the lunch table to not only find block D deep in their bowls, but the very same boy Credence was sure he’d seen be led away in the middle of the night sitting at the end of the bench and spooning mouthfuls of soup with just as much enthusiasm as the others. 

The boys of Block C exchanged glances as they lined up for their ladle of soup, casting furtive eyes at the table. None of them could speak up—not here—but they were all thinking the same thing. The boy from Block D looked about as hale and heartened as anyone else. Nothing about him projected any hints that he’d gone on a midnight adventure. Not even dark circles under his eyes.

As the boys of Block C settled down at the adjoining table, Johan leaned across and tapped the boy on the shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispered, when the boy twisted in his seat. Credence and the others peeled their ears to hear the exchange, while casting wary glances at the guards.

“What?”

“Where did he take you last night?”

“Hu?”

“Last night, with scarface, where did you go?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well where _were_ you last night?”

“In my bunk. Leave me alone.”

“You woke up there too?”

“Yeah. Wait, no… I had a check-up… or something… Snarlack took me back after. I dunno, I was tired.”

A spark went off between them just then, and both boys leaned swiftly back to their own tables. It was a lazy warning, and the guard who’d sent it went back to smoking with his peers, but Johan didn’t dare lean over again. 

“What if he’s a _dummy_?” he whispered to the others in Block C. “Like a puppet, I mean. Like the wizards sent a fake boy to watch us.”

“That’s not possible… is it?” It was the boy with the lisp who spoke, and everyone put a hand over their bowls. It occurred to Credence that he still didn’t know the boy’s name. He’d only ever heard him called “muggle” and “hey, lispy!”

“There’s floating tents right behind you,” Willem pointed out. “Anything’s possible.”

“They took his memory…” Credence spoke so softly that he wasn’t sure he’d been heard.

“Woah, hey- Bowlcut’s speaking.” Johan said, motioning for the others to be silent. “What’d you say? They took his what?”

Credence’s throat was suddenly tight as a fist. “H-h-his memory…”

“Hmm…” Willem considered. “That does make the most sense.”

“B-b-but-” Cress cut in fearfully. “If they can take our memory, then… then…”

“Then any of us could have already been taken?” Derik, the oldest boy, finished gently.

Cress nodded, a thin film of tears coating his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve already been to the med bay a couple of times,” Derik confessed. He sighed, with the resigned manner of someone who has seen too many horrors to care anymore. “I’ve woken up with bruises on my inner arm… stuff like that…”

Credence wasn’t listening. Wasn’t eating. A high-pitched ringing was piercing through his ears, filling up his head, making it vibrate like a bell…

How many times had _he_ been taken? Something had happened to him between the night of the attack and arriving there at camp. But what if it had kept happening? Was Credence going to the med bay, too? Were they conducting experiments on him? Putting things inside him? The feeling of pressure _down there_ came back to him from his nightmare. Such a distinctive sensation. One he shouldn’t know; shouldn’t even be able to imagine. In his mind’s eye, he conjured up an image of himself, naked, laying prostrate on a metal slab as the wizards in blue circled him. In his imagination, their faces were obscured by medical masks, and his own eyes were open but unseeing as a witch slowly inserted her wand into the hole between his legs.

The ringing intensified. Credence was shaking, spiraling, sucking hard at the air to get it into his lungs. Somewhere far away, someone was talking to him, touching his shoulder—but Credence couldn’t hear. He could only hear the ringing. It filled the entire world, louder and louder, until it was as if his eyes were ringing too, and he could only see the bright, sharp white of it…

_’But you think about these things… don’t you?’_

It was that _voice_ again. Indistinct against the shrillness of the ringing, but recognizably the same. A little more three-dimensional than it had been before—more like a proper sound—but it still sent a wave of nausea through Credence’s body, as though it had to rip through some barrier inside him to be heard.

Someone grabbed his hair, and jerked his head back.

Credence blinked away the whiteness, and found himself staring—upside-down—into the soulful eyes of Ambrose, the guard.

“Are you sick, boy?” the wizard asked, with a peculiar softness to his voice.

“N-… No…” Credence answered, though he could taste bile on his own breath.

Ambrose released his hair and pointed sternly at his food.

“Then eat.”

The other boys were staring at him with bloodless fear on their faces. Credence assumed it was because he’d brought a guard down on them, and opened his mouth to apologize, but as soon as he looked at them, the other boys ducked their heads into their bowls and began shoveling food into their mouths.

Credence looked into his own bowl and felt the nausea swell. But with refreshed determination, he picked up his spoon and forced himself to eat. The focus of a newfound mission fortified him.

He was going to figure out what had happened to him. He was going to recover his memories. 

He had no idea how, except by sheer willpower, but he had that. It may not seem like it to the other boys or anyone who had ever known him, but Credence knew it was there. He kept going every day. There were times his anger and pain grew so deep it threatened to consume him, and still he managed to stay quiet and keep going. 

His insides clenched with uncertainty, but he tried to push it away. The wizards may as well have been gods. They seemed to be able to do anything. And there Credence was, a mere mortal in their clutches. His determination felt shaky thinking about such things, but it didn’t vanish. 

For the rest of the day they went to their classes and Credence didn’t speak up again, not even when they repeated lines back to their instructor. He moved his mouth and pretended to speak along, but his mind was elsewhere. He tried to think of the day after the children in his town were captured, rounded up, and herded along with the army. He tried to remember every hour of that day, but somewhere along the line it went fuzzy. He remembered things in the wrong order and couldn’t tell when one memory happened compared to another. 

He didn’t remember that night at all. Only the following morning and the march out. 

By the time they were sent back to their dorms, Credence felt he’d made little progress, if any. His only consolation was that he hadn’t had another disorienting attack in front of everyone. 

As much as he wanted to remember, a small part of him dreaded it. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to experience the dreams he’d had last night again. They’d been confusing—too hot and too intense, and he’d been too afraid. Nothing like the nightmares at the beginning of the night—those were distinctly different—but still…too much. All day afterward he’d felt tired, like he hadn’t gotten any sleep at all. 

Much to Credence’s disappointment, the other boys didn’t want to go to sleep right away that night. He laid in his bed wishing they would stop talking, that they would go back to their own bunks, but they persisted in their chatter. Many of them were determined to stay up all night, now contending with the fear of being taken. It didn’t matter that they’d seen how easily the boy from Block D had been led out right in front of his bunkmates and not one of them had noticed.

Credence lifted his forearm to his face, peering closely at the yellowish glow of the symbol beneath his skin. He tried to wipe aside some of the grime that clouded it, but only succeeded in smudging it around. It felt so strange to run his thumb over the brand and feel nothing but grains of dirt and the soft give of his own flesh. There was no texture to the mark itself. No ridges. No lumpiness beneath his skin. Only that incessant, dull glow.

Above him, raindrops began to drum their fingers on the rooftop. Every memory he had of the camp was coated with that noise. When would it ever stop raining? The wet season seemed to have stretched forever this year. It was raining when he marched in. It was raining the night of the attack… when Credence laid under the slanted roof of his attic bedroom, and the drops were muffled into a gentle hum…

The mark on Credence’s arm flared to life, shining so brightly into Credence’s unprepared eyes that they ached as his pupils contracted. The fragile thread of memory evaporated. Alarm and confusion gripped him instead.

The other boys were still talking like nothing had happened. Credence rolled his head on his pillow to look around the room, needing to see if their marks were glowing too—and horror struck him like an ax in the gut. In his periphery, the nightmare had come to life: the north wall was wide open. Golden light glittered at the edges of the artificial window. A dark figure stood in its center, tall and imposing.

Credence choked on his own heart. It seemed to have moved from his chest and up into the narrow of his throat where it thrashed like a panicked rodent. His stomach whined and twisted into a cramped knot.

_No one else had seen._

This was plain from the quiet laughter that rolled through the room as Johan made a rude jape. Conversation carried on like normal, and Credence didn’t see any other arms glowing like his.

He was being taken. Just like the boy from Block D.

Any moment now, his legs would move under him and carry him away of their own accord. Would he be conscious when it happened? Trapped inside his own body as it betrayed him, fully aware? Or would he black out any moment now, and awaken tomorrow morning, clueless that anything had happened? As much as Credence had fought to reclaim his lost memories, he suddenly wasn’t sure which sounded worse.

The mark on his arm… tugged.

Credence exhaled shakily, making a point of not looking at the magic window. There came another tug at his arm, more insistent, and Credence thought: this is it. Yet his legs remained stretched out on his bunk. His body did not betray him. Nor did his mind.

_None of the other children could see the glow in their marks._

What if the same unique ability that allowed Credence to see the glow… also allowed him to see the magic window? From what he’d observed in Block D, the chosen boy had been just as oblivious to the voyeur as the other boys. Perhaps Credence was somehow… immune. Immune to obfuscation. And, it followed, immune to the magical imperative to obey.

The mark tugged again, painfully this time. With a flush of determination, Credence swung his legs off the bed, and planted his bare feet firmly on the straw floor. His fear was still there, screaming inside him—but his willpower surged to meet it. He rose, shoulders squared, and began to move toward the door, schooling his features with the same blankness he’d seen on the other boy. If he could convince them he was under hypnosis, but actually remain alert and aware, he might finally learn the secret of his missing memories.

Still, as Credence stepped out into the rain and let his socks sink into the cold mud, he had to wonder. Was this how it worked? Did they simply… make the boys think it was their own idea?

He couldn’t let himself believe that was true. And even if it was, it wouldn’t matter. He tried not to glance at the wizard who stood waiting for him mere meters away, but he could see enough of the man in his periphery to know that if he did try to run, he wouldn’t get far. 

With a soft ripple, the glow of magic that had created the portal swiftly diminished. Credence tried not to react. He could see his own breath in the fog. He could hear every inhale, deep and on the edge of anxious, but he did his best to make it even, hoping against all hope that this was normal. Maybe it didn’t matter, he thought, as he and the wizard— _Graves_ , they had called him—stood there in silence. Maybe he only forced the boys along who did not obey. 

Graves was looking him over, Credence realized. He wasn’t used to being the recipient of such attention, but the man was taking him in head to toe as the rain seeped into his clothes and hair, threatening to turn his skin to ice and leave him shivering. Credence couldn’t tell whether the man was looking for something or if he’d done something suspicious, but the gaze did not feel accusatory. Merely scrutinizing. Curious. Maybe even… appreciative, if what Credence could see out of the corner of his eye was right. If the man’s half-marred face could form such an expression. An expression Credence had seen on certain other wizards when they looked at the boys. 

He would have trembled had Graves not turned and walked ahead, evidently expecting that he would follow. He did, quickly, his feet squelching in the mud. He felt shaken from the weight of that gaze more even than the cold. 

From behind, Graves stood tall with shoulders squared and a severe haircut. He wasn’t as tall as some of the wizards Credence had seen in the camp, but there was something about him that made Credence feel like he could take any of them down in a fight—a sturdiness of frame that Credence hadn’t seen on anyone else. He tried not to think of Derik’s stories about the man. He tried to tell himself that it didn’t matter if it was this man or any of the others who came to collect him in the middle of the night, that he wouldn’t stand a chance to escape either way. 

It was difficult to make himself believe it. 

Graves led him along the back of the dorms, outside the regular paths. The children were all in their bunks at this hour, but the way was still lit by a sparse scattering of lamps and patrolled by the occasional camp guard. They crossed one along the way who’d been strolling towards them from the perimeter wall. Graves gave no sign of greeting or even acknowledgement, but the guard’s eyes darted toward them, looking from Graves to Credence in a flash before catching himself and averting his gaze. His back straightened, his shoulders tensed, and although he didn’t falter in his stride, Credence swore the wizard wasn’t breathing as they passed. 

They seemed to be headed towards the gate. 

Credence’s breath sounded far too loud in his own ears, and he wondered every moment if he would betray the behavior of a boy who was not under hypnosis. That something about the way he walked or breathed would alert his captor to his conscious state. But Graves never even glanced down at him, pacing a half step ahead and trusting his catch would follow on its invisible leash.

The massive iron gate whined as it made an opening wide enough for two. Credence’s hair stood on end as they passed close to the metal. The magic in it was so strong, it felt like the repulsive end of a magnet. The latch had just clicked shut behind them when Graves whirled around and flung his hand toward Credence’s throat. It was a good thing Credence was too frozen with fear to react because the man only grasped the inner curve of Credence’s shoulder, with his thumb resting harmlessly over the dip where Credence’s Adam’s apple would one day grow. And then the world dissolved.

When it reappeared, Credence didn’t know what he was seeing at first. The change was so overwhelming, it took his mind several moments to catch up. Ahead and below him stretched a wide, dark block, planted before a bleak, flat landscape. A stripe of mist clung to its horizon, absorbing the silver of the moonlight. As Credence’s eyes adjusted, he could make out geometric shapes in the dark block; cubes and pathways…

The camp, he realized, with a rush.

He was seeing the camp from above.

Graves made a disgusted noise somewhere above him, and a bright flash of magic zapped at his feet. Pins and needles shot up the length of Credence’s body, and he flinched, expecting it to turn into pain—but it never did. The feeling evaporated, and when he looked down, he saw that all the wetness and grime that had long begun to feel like a second skin had disappeared. Every fiber of his clothing and crease of his skin was as pristine as his masters’. His muddy socks were gone, his feet bare and untarnished on the carpet. He curled his toes against the resistance of it, struck by how firm it felt, even though he knew it was stretched over open air. The feeling of rain pelting against his scalp was also noticeably absent here. Here… in the pyramid camp.

Credence’s heart thrilled, and for a moment, he was too excited about being in this magical place to remember his immediate perils.

The bulky shapes of the structure around him weren’t easy to make out against the night sky, except those closest. He could see they stood at the very top. The tents below were made of thick fabric flapping in the wind, somehow untouched by the rain and full of rich, winding patterns. From the ground they’d appeared to be solid colors, but now he could see that they varied beautifully, just like the intricate weaving in the carpet below him. The carpet that floated on air. Credence accidentally peered over the edge. A breath of cold air nearly made him choke and the sense of vertigo that overtook him was unstoppable. 

A heavy hand clapped over his shoulder and held tight. Credence didn’t move a muscle more. 

Graves squeezed and it was painful, but Credence tried to pretend that it calmed him—that the fear retreated and the haze he was supposed to be under took over. He didn’t feel it at all. His legs trembled and he could feel sweat in his palms, and he almost wished he really had been put under some kind of spell, just for the calm it would bring him.

Graves pulled him away from the scene of the camp, before his legs had unfrozen, and he stumbled. Instead of letting him fall, the wizard caught him. With ease he lifted Credence back onto his feet and steadied him. Credence tried not to look up at the man’s face. He knew it would give him away. He knew he would stare at the misshapen side of it and the wizard would know instantly that he was aware of what was going on around him. He could feel the man looking down at him and it made goose bumps raise across his arms. 

When Graves was satisfied Credence could walk, he led him down the short path of the carpet toward the canopy of a tent. The only tent this high up. Its crimson fabric fluttered, revealing lines of dark embellishments all along its surface. As gilded as this tent looked in the daylight, even at a distance, it only made Credence feel small under the looming bulk of it in the dark. 

If he tried to run, he truly had nowhere to go. Five meters in any direction and he’d be tumbling through the air, plummeting to the ground below. Credence didn’t want to get too close to the wizard; instinct told him this man was not a friend, but reason prevented him from lingering too far back.

Graves wasn’t paying him any attention. The man drew up to the doorway, framed by golden embroidery that glittered softly in the moonlight. He straightened his shoulders andreached out for a golden tassel beside the cloth. 

A bell sounded faintly within, and then the latch upon the curtain fell open. All on its own. 

A sinking feeling began to grow in the pit of Credence’s stomach as the wizard drew aside the curtain and looked back at him. Credence was expected to follow. He put one foot in front of the other and forced himself to go to the man, catching a glimpse of furnishings inside a well-lit room that seemed much larger than he’d expected from the outside. Graves stepped in behind him and let the curtain fall, but as soon as Credence passed through, his feet stopped. 

There, before a sturdy desk stacked with rolls of parchment and a glass tumbler in his hand, stood the Commander. He looked like he’d been expecting them. 

"Ahh, good, you found him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HerrGrindelwald: Do you love Grindelwald as much as we do? Please come visit our blogs! We're always looking for more quality Grindelwald content to follow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a special holiday treat, we give you this chapter... and new art by The Piper of Hameln, straight from the camp showers. [Click here to feast your eyes.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13137624)

The dimensions of the tent’s interior defied its exterior. The room they stood in was as spacious as it was luxurious, housing such improbable items as a grandfather clock, a small liquor cabinet, a large desk, and—hanging high above them—a chandelier made of crystal sheets that hung from real antlers. Looking up alerted Credence to a second level, where he could just barely make out a wide bed, piled with furs. A ladder lead to this level, and—impossibly—Credence thought he could see the flicker of fire up there. He certainly _smelled_ a fireplace, and the interior of the tent was so warm that it made his icy toes prickle with pins and needles as the blood rushed back in.

He moved his eyes back to the Commander, who was standing with a drink half raised to his mouth, raising an eyebrow and ready to meet Credence’s gaze. Credence fell into the trap of the man’s eyes for a split second before lowering his own with a gulp.

The Commander sat his drink down on the desk with an aggressive thud.

“Oh Percy.”

Credence sensed the man behind him stiffen.

“…Sir.”

Credence kept his eyes on a massive pelt on the floor, wondering what sort of beast it had been. It could almost have been from a tiger, but it was the wrong color: white and almost silvery, like the Commander’s hair.

“Have we forgotten something?”

When the Commander’s question was met with nervous silence, Credence heard him round the desk and come toward them in a steady, mocking swagger of steps. He saw dark slippers trod over the striped winter fur of the pelt, and then draw even closer, until Credence was looking almost directly down at them. He felt a flushed awareness of the Commander’s belly so close to his face. The next breath he took had a gentle, enticing spice to it, and in his core there came an inexplicable surge of… belonging.. Some feeling warm and safe, loose with the letting go of hurts…

“He’s awake.”

Credence’s shoulders came up before he could help it, jarred out of the strange, soothing feeling. He tried to remain still as silence descended upon the room. His muscles were stiff, but he wasn’t trembling—not like he so often did out in the cold, when Snarlack would conjure a whip from the end of his wand and rant about how worthless their hides were between his strikes. Credence thought that maybe the warmth of the room prevented it, because he was surely in more danger here than he’d ever been at the hands of the camp guards, but that pleasant scent still filled his nose and his heart wasn’t racing like it usually did in the presence of wizards.

“I….” Behind him, Graves’ voice trailed off. He didn’t sound frightened, per se, but there was a note of uncertainty in it. 

That did not bode well. Credence didn’t know how to make it right. It wasn’t his fault he was awake, but he knew that didn’t matter. It never mattered, especially not in the camp. If he fell short of the wizards’ expectations of him for any reason, even if it was their fault, he wouldn’t escape punishment. 

He closed his eyes and tried to feel grateful that he was out of cold, if nothing else. And if he was struck, then at least he’d fall upon a soft rug instead of rock and mud. 

But the strike never came. Instead, something smooth and warm touched his cheek. A hand—the Commander’s hand. He was so startled he jumped and opened his eyes. He expected to see the mocking sneer worn by the guards whenever they pretended to take pity on the children, but it wasn’t there. The Commander’s expression was serene, and searching, and the corner of his mouth lifted. 

“Tsk. Poor thing.” 

To Credence’s shock, the man bent to kneel down at Credence’s level, and although the hint of a smile remained upon his lips, it didn’t seem malicious. 

“Poor little urchin had you fooled, Percy.” The Commander’s mismatched eyes lifted to fix on Graves, who still stood straight-backed behind Credence, and danced merrily at the other wizard’s expense. 

The man gave a quiet sigh, chastened. 

“That must have been frightening for you,” the Commander’s attention fell back to Credence, “leaving the camp and coming all the way up here.” 

It could have been a question, but Credence wasn’t sure and didn’t feel like he should give an answer. 

“What do you say I help you relax a little?” The thumb at his cheek brushed softly over his skin—an indication of intent before the hand moved and fingers brushed into the back of his hair, massaging slowly in the most pleasant way. 

Relaxation was dangerous, Credence knew. It meant letting go of his vigilance. Around the camp, blows came out of nowhere. He had to be prepared. He couldn’t let himself be blindsided.

But he already was. The sensation of the Commander’s fingers against his scalp blossomed through his nerve-endings and sent a shiver down his spine so powerful that he gasped and arched his back when it reached his tailbone. Credence heard a pleased hum, low as brass, and realized the sound came from beyond the darkness of his eyelids. 

When had he closed his eyes? 

The Commander’s fingers were strong, and they worked their way down, grabbing at the back of his neck and pulling like a mother cat lifting its kitten. If Credence’s muscles could moan, they would have. He’d never consciously felt the tension in his own shoulders until the Commander’s hand started kneading at him.

That was it. That was why his willpower withered so quickly. He had never _felt_ this before. _Touch._

Oh, no doubt someone had touched him to change his diapers as an infant. Mary Lou had touched his shoulder to lead him around, or his wrist to hold his hand still. Some of the guards had handled him. But stroking? Hugging? He was only ever a voyeur to such acts. He had never tasted their mystery; not even once. Certainly, no one had ever touched him as though it were their _mission_ to make him feel good.

“I…,” Credence breathed out, but nothing else came.

“…Look at me, boy.”

The Commander spoke deep in his chest, gentle and only for Credence to hear.

Credence’s eyelids felt heavy when he lifted them, and they sagged over his gaze. Up close, he could see all the little details of the Commander’s face. The grooves in his cheeks from years of speaking, smiling, shouting commands. The way the skin around his eyes was delicate and crinkled like a candy wrapper. The irises of those confounding, day-and-night eyes. And most of all, the burning presence with which he inhabited every little muscle of his expressions. Credence thought he could feel the energy of the man like pins and needles against his own skin. He was so used to people who were far away inside themselves, never really seeing him. The Commander’s attention was _shining_ out of him. Blinding.

“I’m looking, sir.”

“Do you really think you can stop me?”

Credence’s breath hitched in his throat. A panicked confusion swirled in his chest, even as his muscles relaxed beneath the warmth that was seeping from the Commander’s hand and into his neck. He was suddenly intently conscious of that hand.

“N- _no_ , sir, I-”

Credence felt the Commander’s other hand find one of his own, where it hung by his side. The Commander was prying his fingers from his palm, one by one. Credence had not even realized he’d had his hands bunched into fists. Taking the hint, he reluctantly unclenched them. It felt like the showers all over again. Getting naked.

The Commander’s mouth drew so close that Credence crossed his eyes to follow it. He could see the individual hairs of the wizard’s mustache before they blurred out of view, and Credence felt the peculiarity of their bristles against his forehead as the Commander planted a kiss.

His mind was blank as the wizard drew back and looked him in the eye.

“If you can’t stop me, then there’s no reason to fight.” The hand at the back of Credence’s neck finally slid away, creeping down his jaw and away, until only the tip of the commander’s middle finger lingered below his chin. “Let the fight out, boy. You’ve been holding onto it for too long.”

With a skeletal creaking that Credence could feel in the roots of his teeth, he let his shoulders drop.

Goosebumps ran down his flesh. He felt them everywhere. There was a chill inside him that contrasted with the warmth of the room and the Commander’s hand. He’d brought it with him from the camp. This was the first time he’d been asked to let it go, and the first time that anyone had noticed it there at all, much less addressed it. The guards didn’t care. It seemed unfathomable that this man should. 

Credence didn’t know whether relaxing his muscles would be enough. His heart still pounded so hard against his ribcage that he feared it was audible. 

“That’s better.” The soft smile at the corner of the Commander’s mouth was back. 

A tiny surge of relief washed through Credence, even though he knew he shouldn’t take it for granted. Whatever this man wanted from him, he knew it would be in his best interests to acquiesce. 

The man’s smile widened by a fraction as though he’d read the thoughts right off Credence’s face. With a fluidity Credence had only seen in the wizards from the army, the Commander rose from his crouch and looked down at him from a proper height. Credence wasn’t used to standing that close to anyone, and this man, even though not particularly tall, seemed a giant to him. 

“Come and sit with me for a while.” The Commander offered his hand. 

Credence stared for a split second, dumbfounded, before reaching out and placing his hand in the man’s palm. The Commander squeezed it gently. The action should have been grounding, but Credence felt like he was entering into a haze of confusion. He hoped it wasn’t a spell. It didn’t feel like he imagined one might feel. He simply had no idea what was expected of him. No idea what he should say or do, even though he knew, rationally, that his life possibly depended on it. 

The Commander tugged, and Credence was pulled forward, unable to think on it any longer. The man took up his glass again and led them deeper into the room, where a small, plush couch waited. The Commander sank into it and took a sip from his glass while he looked Credence over. 

From his toes, all the way up to his eyes, the man’s gaze wandered. Then he set the glass down with a clink and patted the spot beside him. “Come, sit.” 

Credence glanced over the dark cushions, fearful he’d track dirt upon them, but then he looked down at his feet again and remembered that the other wizard had cleaned him with magic. He was still damp and in his nightclothes, and although they were worn, they were not stained with signs of labor like his day clothes. Tentatively, Credence climbed up onto the cushion beside the Commander. 

Movement from the door drew his attention. The other wizard—Graves—bowed low in a practiced gesture and turned to leave them. But to Credence’s surprise, when the man neared the exit, he simply… stopped. Credence blinked as the man clutched his hands behind his back and shifted into a comfortable stance with his feet shoulder width apart. He stayed there like a statue, his back turned to the room, neither moving a muscle nor making a sound.

Credence’s eyes flickered uncertainly to the Commander. All the brazen defiance that had allowed him to raise his eyes during the parade had left him now. The most he dared do was stare at the Commander’s chest, where a smart row of silver buttons kept his deep crimson robes taut against his form. To Credence’s infinite embarrassment, the Commander raised his hands and undid the first two of those buttons while Credence watched, causing his cheeks to turn the color of the Commander’s robes.

“You can get comfortable, too, if you’d like.”

“I… don’t…” Credence didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure he understood. He fidgeted, squirming against the plush cushion. Ever since his mark had lit up in the dorms, he’d been tied to the present, existing only in the moment. Now that he was warm and dry and at least partly freed from the looming terror of the unknown, his confusion began catching up to him—and with it, frustration. He wanted to know why he was there. He didn’t want to be toyed with.

“You must be wondering why you are here,” the Commander said smoothly.

The statement was so in line with Credence’s thoughts that for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. The Commander’s voice echoing his mind was like the world going double for a moment. He blinked hard enough to see stars, trying to push away the disquieting sensation.

“Yes… master.”

“You are here… to keep me company for the night. To delight me.”

To… delight? Credence felt more thrown in this moment than he had when he discovered that magic was real. Credence couldn’t _delight_ anyone. The Commander had made a _terrible_ choice if he thought Credence could entertain him. Dirty socks were more entertaining than him.

“I always choose exactly what I want,” the Commander said. “If you are uncertain how to act… follow these two simple guidelines. Be yourself… and refuse me nothing.”

_Be myself,_ Credence repeated inside his own head. _And… don’t say no._

“That’s… it?” he asked, tentatively. Then added, quickly, “Master.”

“You don’t have to call me master every time you speak,” the Commander chuckled. “And… yes. That truly is it. Nothing more, and nothing less. Would you like some hot spiced wine?”

“N-…” Ma had always told him that alcohol was the drink of degenerates. That it polluted the body. But the Commander had instructed him to put aside refusals, and how he conducted himself tonight could impact life and limb. “…Yes.”

Credence had to gulp down the ‘master’ stuck in his throat.

The Commander made a pleased noise and flicked a hand to summon their drinks.

“Good. You understand.”

The Commander’s voice had a richness and a warmth to it. One that percolated past Credence’s fear and softened his insides, despite his better instincts. Something about it kindled feelings of safety within him. Made him believe, in his gut, that he really would not be hurt if he only did what was asked. That there were no unexpected blows or capricious punishments waiting around the corner. That he could let go, just for now… in this soft couch, this balmy tent…

He tried to tell his body it was all illusion. Tried to stay focused on remembering that threat was ever-present as a ceramic goblet was placed into his hands. The heat of it seeped into his fingers and dispelled a cold there deeper than he’d known he carried. His very bones sighed with the release. From the goblet, a heady aroma of fruit and spice floated up and burned the inside of his nose. It was difficult to compete with his own senses as saliva gathered thirstily beneath his tongue.

“Try it.”

Credence pressed the warm ceramic to his lips and inhaled the aroma once more before taking a sip. He expected it to taste like the hot apple cider parishioners brought to the church only on Christmas, but it was nothing alike. His brows knit and his face scrunched up at the bitterness before he could stop himself from being rude. He pulled the cup away and licked his lips, trying to school his expression back into place. 

To his surprise, a chuckle sounded from the man at his side. The Commander was watching him over the rim of his own cup, and his eyes were strangely delighted to see Credence’s reaction. 

Credence flushed. His heart was still beating fast. He thought for sure he’d been rude, showing such obvious distaste. 

“Try again.” 

As Credence watched, the Commander took a sip of his own beverage, displaying none of the aversion Credence had. The ridge of the man’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and Credence watched the tendons under the pale skin move until his gaze landed at the man’s collar bone, just above the open buttons. The Commander made the drink seem sweet and smooth. 

There _was_ a hint of sweetness to it, Credence conceded, and raised his cup again, feeling a certain amount of trepidation this time. He didn’t want to offend the Commander, but the bitter taste of alcohol was just as strong as the sweetness and the spice. At least his reaction wasn’t unexpected this time. Credence’s mouth pursed, but he managed another sip well enough. 

Again, the Commander was smiling at him, mouth turned up at the corners with something that looked like fondness, but the expression had an edge to it—a heat to it—that Credence couldn’t place. It made his skin prickle, but it also gave him the oddest sensation. He felt nervous, almost to the point of being frightened, but that strange sense of safety deep inside him remained firm. The contrast didn’t make sense. Reality and what he was feeling couldn’t be reconciled. 

“Too strong for you, hm?” The Commander shifted, drawing one leg up on the couch so that he could better face Credence. “I can think of something you might prefer instead.” 

Mismatched eyes held Credence’s own while the man leaned in and reached for his goblet. He thought the Commander might take it and give Credence something else, but the movement didn’t stop. His larger hand wrapped over Credence’s fingers to hold the cup in place while he drew into Credence’s space. 

Credence only realized what was about to happen a moment before the brush of whiskers grazed his cheek, and then soft lips pressed against the corner of his mouth. 

He froze. 

The Commander didn’t draw back. Instead, the fingers of his free hand found the back of Credence’s neck, just like they’d done before. Gentle, but firm. Ready should Credence pull away. When Credence didn’t, the man’s mouth moved over his own—feather light, yet decidedly not chaste. 

Credence held as still, as if the kiss had been a blade at his throat… except for his lips, which did the strangest thing of their own accord. They relaxed, and parted. Softly, delicately, like they did in the moments before sleep when the tension of the day’s quiet rage would leave his face. He felt the Commander respond to this; felt the minutest exchanges of touch, loud as words. The man shifted subtly against the new give so that his bottom lip pressed between Credence’s. His mustache tickled Credence’s nose, which tingled with the piney musk of aftershave. The irrational feeling of safety Credence had felt when he first smelled the man grew warm and oozy inside him, like melting caramel.

It wasn’t until the Commander’s lips disappeared that Credence grew aware of how much everything had narrowed into that moment, that contact. He found that he was leaning forward in his seat, having trailed after the Commander’s lips a ways when they withdrew, like a flower’s stalk bending toward sunlight. Some part of him was embarrassed, but for once, his shame was upstaged by other feelings. Relief, curiosity, and… a confused wonder. He blinked his way back to the present, finally finding the courage to look directly into the Commander’s eyes. What he saw there was a profound satisfaction, and-… could it be? Fondness? It was doused in smugness, whatever it was.

“…why?” Credence could hear how small his own voice was. How very much a child he was. How vulnerable.

It baffled and frightened him that all his resolve—all his _fight_ , as the Commander had called it—could evaporate in the face of such simple, affectionate contact. How the sacred flame of hatred in his belly had been replaced by a sweet, fluttering emptiness in less than a minute’s time. He found himself painfully, stupidly hopeful at the hint of caring in the Commander’s eyes. Awash in the naive notion that maybe _this one won’t hurt me._

But that didn’t make sense. Nothing about Credence invited that sort of kindness.

The glint of smugness drained out of the Commander’s eyes, and for a fleeting instant, he looked almost sad. It passed.

“I saw you at the parade,” he said, by way of explanation.

Credence shrank. The Commander chuckled.

“I thought you had remarkably beautiful eyes,” he said, sipping his wine. Was the Commander teasing him?

Credence licked his lips, imagining he could taste the kiss.

“I’m sorry I looked, master.”

“Don’t be. I’m too vain. _Someone_ had to appreciate that overcoat.”

From the doorway, the other wizard emitted a quick, gruff sound, quickly clipped. Credence startled, and almost spilled some of his wine. The Commander captured all his attention so expertly, he’d forgotten about the man with the scar. Sheepishly, he disguised his racing heart by raising the mug to his lips and taking a few, anxious gulps, larger than he’d meant to. He coughed when he pulled the mug away, and the spiced wine felt like a fever when it reached the core of his body and blossomed out into his limbs. A deep headiness was overtaking him, though he wasn’t sure if it was the wine, the Commander, or the blissful relief of finally not being cold.

“You don’t need much coaxing, do you?” The Commander regarded Credence as he spoke, wearing an expression Credence could not interpret, except to note that the edge of heat had crept to the forefront. “I don’t need to _convince_ you. You _want_ to be touched more than anything. Isn’t that true?”

Of all his list of wants, Credence would never have thought to mention touch. But when the Commander reached out and traced the pads of his fingers down the side of Credence’s face, he knew the Commander saw truths he did not. Credence closed his eyes, breathing deep into the sensation of being stroked with affection. Where there had been fear, there was now only a vulnerable, cringing sadness, praying that all this would not suddenly turn into a lie. If this kind, affectionate man hit him now, it wouldn’t be the pain that did him in, but the heartbreak.

“Yes,” Credence whispered.

He heard the Commander put his mug down.

“One more sip.” The Commander’s fingers pressed against the underside of Credence’s mug, lifting it up so that he had to raise it to his mouth again. 

Credence didn’t disobey. As he drank, he wondered why the wizard asked this of him. Ma had always said the Devil seduces good souls with liquor and spirits. Credence had seen drunken men before, late at night, stumbling down the streets in front of the church, but he had no idea why the Commander would want him to drink. He tried to obey, though. He drank from the mug as deeply as he could before he coughed again. 

The Commander took it from him then, and placed Credence’s mug down beside his own. 

“To help you relax,” the man said, even though he wasn’t obligated to explain anything to Credence. “Come here.” He patted the seat cushion beside him. The one that separated them.

Credence shifted forward, closing the distance between them while his heart began to pound loudly in his ears. There was a smile on the Commander’s lips as he reached up to touch Credence’s face again. This time, when he bent down to press his mouth to Credence’s, the contact was not light, and his hands were not idle. 

One hooked around the back of Credence’s neck—an anchor more than a restraint—and the other slipped around his middle to stroke down the length of his back. Credence’s spine arched, surprised at the ferocity of the touch, but with warm lips upon his own and a tongue opening his mouth with playful little swipes, there wasn’t much room for analysis. 

His mind reeled in the magnitude of it all. 

He would have frozen if the Commander’s hands and mouth hadn’t felt so…nice. Insistent, but gentle. Coaxing instead of demanding. At least not with force. Not the way Credence was used to—the way the guards forced their labors and lashes upon the bodies of the boys. If the Commander wanted to kiss him, he didn’t have to do it this way. Credence didn’t understand why he did, but he was grateful the man did not betray the kind touches with cruel ones. 

The more Credence thought about how different things were in the camp below, the more he soaked up the press of the man’s mouth and fingers, and even the soft nip of teeth against his lower lip—the suggestion of a desire for something more, but restrained enough for only a tingle to mar Credence’s plump flesh. 

Credence opened his mouth to it and pressed himself forward, hoping that was what the Commander wanted—because he wanted it too. Wanted to feel the safety of this strange affection. 

He was pressed backward very suddenly after that, fearing for a split second that he’d done something wrong, but finding the Commander only wanted to press him down against the cushions, with eyes glittering and an approving smile on his mouth. 

“That’s it,” the man whispered. 

Credence felt his breath grow heavy and deep, his chest expanding between the pressure of the Commander’s hands and the give of the cushions. He should have been squirming, kicking for his life beneath the looming arch of the grown man’s body, but against all reason, Credence felt calmer than he ever had. He wasn’t on edge, waiting to clench against the next blow, or to bite, or claw, or dodge. He was… surrendering. The wolf’s jaw was open on his throat, ready to bite down any moment, and he was limp.

“Tell me what to do,” Credence whispered. He didn’t know. This was all so unfamiliar to him. The Commander clearly wanted _something_ out of him. He was working up to it, with the kisses and the hot wine. Credence was willing to give it to him, whatever it was. He just needed to be told how. He didn’t want to be some passive object, manipulated and placed where the Commander wanted him. That profound _will_ was still burning in him, but for once, its intent was not bent toward resistance.

He’d caught the Commander off guard. He could see that, in the way the man’s brow loosened all at once, raising his pale eyebrows and softening the area around his eyes. He could feel it in the way the intense wave of momentum the Commander had washed over him paused, just for a moment, the way a sucking tide holds its breath before a crashing wave.

The Commander didn’t answer him in words. Instead, he ran those heavy hands down Credence’s torso. Down to the edge of his shirt, and then up again, under it, stroking his vulnerable belly. The Commander’s hands could cover the entire breadth of his abdomen, and Credence breathed deep into it, experimentally lifting those hands. Then… he reached up, and started to unbutton his own shirt.

It was just like in the showers. But not. Somehow, Credence taking the initiative made it different. Doing it before he was asked. Doing it because he wanted to… or _thought_ he wanted to…

The Commander’s eyes shone fiercely as they watched, the lips that had kissed Credence moments ago now parted with disbelief… and with something thirsty that made Credence feel wonderful to be looked at. A sensation as unfamiliar as being touched.

“Am I under a spell…?” Credence asked in a whisper, as his fingers came down low enough to brush against the Commander’s, undoing the last few buttons of his shirt.

“No…” The Commander growled the word, soft and breathy. Then added- “But you’re putting me under one.”

Credence actually giggled. It didn’t sound like his own voice, though he knew it was. The sound was pure and light; a sound of bells he’d sometimes heard ringing from nearby parks where caring parents took their children to play.

With the last button undone, the Commander’s hands slid the rest of the way up the bare skin of Credence’s torso, parting the fabric as he went. Credence sighed at so much skin-to-skin contact. It was a blissful submersion after the light dip of the Commander’s hand on his neck. This time, when the Commander leaned down to claim Credence’s lips, he lifted his head to meet him.

He wondered if this was some type of fear-response as the Commander settled over him, pressing him back into the cushions, and he felt his body go pliant all over. It would make sense, if his survival depended on giving the Commander what he wanted… but Credence didn’t feel afraid. He didn’t feel anything except warm and soft inside and so, so glad he was no longer in the camp. His thoughts should have been on the hows and the whys regarding his purpose there in the Commander’s tent, but his mind shied away from such things. All he wanted was relief. And comfort. …And safety. 

The pad of a thumb dipped into the divot of his belly button as the Commander’s hand wrapped around his side, so large in comparison that his fingers spread halfway across the small of Credence’s back. The hand moved down over his hip where the ridge of bone protruded, and then the Commander’s thumb lowered to massage into the ravine where Credence’s thigh met his pelvis. 

The touch was so unexpectedly stimulating that Credence _squirmed_ beneath the man’s hand. His toes curled and he let out a soft sound, muffled between presses of the Commander’s lips and tongue. It felt like grazing a nerve. One that went directly to the pressure pooling between his legs, which Credence was trying to ignore.

The Commander sat up and looked down at him with heat and approval, but Credence felt too dazed to follow the gaze. He laid there on the seat, sprawled out as he’d been with the man on top of him. 

“I think you’re just about ready, aren’t you.” Teeth flashed in a grin and mismatched eyes danced from Credence’s mouth and down… down, all the way to his crotch, where his legs had fallen open, spread on either side of the Commander’s. 

Credence didn’t have time to be embarrassed. He was lifted up into the Commander’s arms, shirt discarded along the way, as the man got to his feet. On instinct, Credence wrapped his legs around the man’s waist, and with the state of things down there, the contact felt good. That earned him a grin while the Commander walked him to the ladder that lead up to the second level. 

“Hold on tight, now.”

Credence’s arms wound anxiously around the Commander’s neck, his thighs squeezing hard at the man’s hips, and a moment later, the Commander released his hold and grabbed onto the ladder. Credence’s stomach fell out from under him as the man hoisted them up the first rung, and then the next, and the next. It made him feel oddly fluttery to be _carried_ like this. Partly afraid that he’d fall, and partly captivated by the way the Commander’s strong arms seemed to carry both their weights with such ease. He closed his eyes tightly when the man put his knee on the second level and pushed himself to stand, knowing they were right on the ledge. But strong arms wound around him again, and Credence felt the pleasant jostle of further steps, carrying them away from danger.

Gravity shifted, and Credence clung with a racing heart as the Commander bent and the world tilted—but then something soft embraced him from behind, and the Commander’s weight came down on top of him, pressing him slowly into the softness.

His eyes fluttered open, seeing the blurry nearness of the Commander’s hair and the deep red of the tent ceiling further beyond. The sound of the fire was very close now, and it was significantly hotter here than it had been on the lower level. Whatever he was laying on felt so luxurious against the naked skin of his back that he wanted to moan. No sooner had he suppressed the impulse than he found himself gasping, his whole body arching tensely as wet heat and suction claimed his neck. The Commander’s mouth was on him, stimulating him in ways Credence didn’t know was possible. Electric shocks shot through his body from the point of contact, making him curve his back and press into the Commander’s weight, as if he were resisting. He wanted desperately to make himself pliant again, to not give the Commander the wrong idea, but it felt impossible to speak. His attempts yielded only a small whimper.

In response, the Commander moaned against Credence’s neck and rolled his hips upward, which had the effect of pressing his groin against the tender area where Credence’s buttocks tapered off toward the soft stretch of skin before his private parts. Credence’s mind went utterly blank. All his awareness evacuated his head and drained into his body, pooling with tingling heat in the base of his pelvis. He was acutely conscious of the way his legs still wound around the Commander’s hips, his feet hovering floppily in the air above them. The Commander must have sensed him freeze, because he lifted his head to peer down at Credence, his mouth flushed red from its attentions to Credence’s neck.

The Commander looked so different like this. His face was reddened, and the effects of both gravity and the firelight accentuated the lines on his face. Credence could see a vein in the man’s forehead standing out against the skin. His eyes looked unfocused and bleary. Searching him.

Without thinking of what he was doing, Credence unwound his arms from the man’s neck and placed both hands on his weathered face, feeling the texture of the skin under his palms. The roughness of the shaved areas, the soft flesh over hard cheekbones. His hands, even splayed, were too small to cover the man’s cheeks. He had to trail them up, following the curve of the man’s bone structure until he had one hand on either temple, framing his eyes, which were squinting at him with confusion. Everything felt a little too hot and out of focus. A pleasant, low dizziness was settling over Credence, loosening the tight restraints he kept inside his own head and letting strange thoughts flow unimpeded. Among them, that he felt an inexplicable… tenderness for the man above him just now.

He wanted this. He didn’t even know what _this_ was, but he could identify parts. The way his skin sighed under this full-body contact and wanted more—infinitely more—straining greedily toward the pressure of the man’s weight. The way the heat in his pelvis was swelling to the point of throbbing, and felt so good when the Commander moved against him. The way being the man’s center of attention induced those strange feelings of warmth, safety, and something else—something that Credence couldn’t name, but reached for with all the wounded neglect of his short life. How was it that a few moments ago, he had been afraid to be here—and now he was afraid this man would ever make him go?

“Please…” Credence whispered, and pushed his hips down, seeking the pressure of the man’s groin again.

A chuckle sounded above him. “Look at you.” The Commander’s face split into a smile, still touched with that note of bemusement. 

Credence got the impression his response wasn’t expected, or perhaps not to this degree, but he couldn’t spare the strength to be ashamed. The Commander certainly wasn’t displeased. That was more than evident. Credence knew in the back of his head that he should be upset with himself for acting like this, but he couldn’t find it in him. He wasn’t in pain anymore. This man was touching him with affection and gentleness, even if his words had held a vaguely threatening undertone at first. The Commander’s clever fingers and the insistent press of his body overwhelmed Credence’s reservations. This was not at all unpleasant. This was _overwhelmingly_ pleasant, and Credence never thought he’d experience anything pleasant ever again. He’d never had much experience with it to start with. 

Strong fingers gripped his hip and held him still while the Commander’s other hand worked its way into Credence’s hair. He was suddenly very grateful the other wizard had cleaned him of the dirt and grime on his skin before entering the tent, otherwise he didn’t know if the state of him would have discouraged the Commander from touching him like this. The rational voice in the back of his mind told him that had been why the other wizard had done it in the first place. The man had known. 

But Credence’s mind shied away from following that trail of thought just now, with the Commander leaned over him, his sensuous mouth curved up to reveal the hint of teeth and his eyes drinking in the sight of Credence bent nearly in half below him. The Commander shifted and his groin rubbed against Credence in the most pleasurable way. 

The feeling was so strong that Credence’s mouth fell open and his breathing became labored. He felt engulfed in this man’s presence, with those strong hands holding him in place, that larger body curled over his, and their hips rubbing together in a way that overwhelmed Credence’s every tactile sense and stalled his thoughts. Never in his short life had he experienced anything like this. 

Credence felt himself trembling as the Commander leaned down and captured his mouth again. The hand in his hair seemed to take pleasure in making it as unruly as possible, for when the man pulled back, his eyes lingered on the disheveled strands before they swept down to take in Credence’s face and finally catch on his eyes. After a moment, they dropped to Credence’s lips, which felt hot and swollen from all the attention, and the man’s smile curved a little more. 

“Such a delight you are. A little treat.” The words whispered by the Commander made Credence’s cheeks flare with heat. He’d never been called anything like that before, not even by the people he’d used to hand leaflets to, who thought him a poor soul worthy of pity. This left him feeling out of sorts, both struggling to understand how and why the Commander would think this of him, while the praise also muddled his head and left him feeling like he was floating. 

Credence clung tighter around the man’s neck and didn’t want to let go. 

But then the fingers left his hair and both the man’s hands moved down to the hem of his pants. The Commander didn’t waste time pulling them down, and even though Credence had begun to suspect that was a possibility, he was still left in slight shock when it actually happened. 

The rough fabric got halfway down his thighs before it could go no farther and Credence was left exposed, his arousal pink and flushed and standing straight up in the air, small as it was. Quite suddenly, he had the presence of mind to recognize that he should be embarrassed, but the Commander’s eyes were drinking him in with too much appreciation and he was too dizzy to feel anything but surprised. 

“Mmm…” The Commander let his appreciation be heard as well as seen. He sat back on his haunches, with Credence’s legs still trapped on either side of his hips, pants and undergarments taut across his spread thighs. And then he slid one of those warm, wonderful hands up over Credence’s most private parts, just like that. Over his taut little balls and up the short, perky shaft, pressing it down against Credence’s hairless skin.

The feeling Credence had been straining against when they ground their bodies together surged through the raw, open wire of his genitals, up through his spine, and blossomed in a bright light of pleasure behind his eyes. It was _more_ than pleasure, it was- _realization._ As the Commander’s palm pressed down and stroked him, again and then again, Credence’s very understanding of what was even possible to feel in this life blew wide open. The hovering, unanswered question of what exactly the Commander wanted with him was answered in one blissful awakening:

_This._

“ _My_ , you like that…”

The Commander’s faintly amused tone drew Credence’s attention back into the rest of his body, and he realized his face was scrunched up in concentration and that he was making some very silly “oh” noises. He caught himself and flushed harder, embarrassed—but it was a _good_ sort of embarrassment. Something Credence had never imagined could exist. Something shared that made the Commander chuckle as well.

“It’s not a problem. It’s… delightful… when you show me… just how much you like it.” The Commander was shifting back as he spoke, tugging Credence’s remaining clothing all the way off. Between the fire and the furs, it was a relief to be naked. Credence felt so content in his own skin, he actually stretched when he was free of his clothes, all the way out to his fingers and toes.

“M-master…?”

Soothing hands ran up the side of Credence’s thighs, and he gasped as the Commander leaned down to place wet kisses between his legs. Not quite on his penis, but nuzzled around its base and his balls. It made his toes curl so hard that his feet almost cramped.

“Yes, pet…?”

Credence felt the bristle of the Commander’s mustache against his most sensitive anatomy when the man spoke.

“A-a-are you going to take yours off…? Too…?”

The Commander made a thoughtful noise… and then crawled up over Credence’s body, dragging his nose and lips over the smooth expanse of Credence’s skin. Inhaling him as he went.

He stopped when his collar was directly above Credence’s eyes. Hovering there, with the two open silver buttons winking at Credence in the firelight. He understood at once, and reached up with tiny, shaking fingers to undo the rest.

Credence worked the buttons all the way down to the bottom, where the shirt was tucked into the man’s trousers. Credence’s fingers brushed against the waistline, and he held his breath. Somehow, it seemed forbidden. 

All of this should have been forbidden, according to everything Credence had absorbed so far, living in the camp. This much contact between a muggle and a wizard felt taboo, but touching the Commander anywhere close to _there_ , especially so. Yet clearly the man wanted it. 

So Credence steeled himself and grabbed little fistfuls of fabric, tugging the shirt free. He tried to breathe steady as it fell open and the soft material brushed over him, forming a fabric curtain that enclosed him in the space between the bed and the Commander. When the Commander looked down at him, trapped in that fabric cage, Credence wondered whether the wrongness of it all had crossed his mind. Inviting a muggle into his tent. Touching him.

Credence’s hands hovered in the air between them, unsure what to do next, until the Commander leaned back to shrug the shirt off his shoulders. It slid like water over his back and then pooled beside them, nestled in the furs and forgotten as soon as the Commander turned his attention back to Credence. 

He bent to nuzzle against Credence’s ear. It was quite nice at first, but then the Commander opened his mouth and Credence felt the scrape of teeth. He froze, but didn’t feel any bite. The Commander only seemed to be playing with sensations. He repeated the gesture, until Credence began to relax again, and then pressed his mouth to Credence’s ear. 

“One more thing,” the Commander whispered, voice soft as the fur beneath Credence’s back. 

For a second Credence didn’t know what he meant. He hesitated too long before the Commander took hold of his wrist and pulled it down to the front of his pants and Credence nearly squeaked. Funny how propriety could sink its claws into him at a moment like that, but he was caught off guard, and for a second, he resisted the pull. 

A soft rumble filled his ear, warning him not to deny the Commander. But Credence didn’t want to deny him. He wanted not to be alone in the pleasure the man was giving him. And he wanted… he wasn’t sure what he wanted, exactly, but he wanted to see the man’s skin and he didn’t want to be the only one naked. So Credence’s fingers searched for a button or a clasp and when he found it, he didn’t hesitate any longer. 

Carefully, Credence peeled the man’s pants down his hips, tugging as they went and trying to avoid the large bulge underneath, which was filling out noticeably to one side. The underwear came with, and Credence’s fingers brushed coarse hair and tight skin and all at once, that hard length of flesh sprang free. 

Credence’s fingers froze as his eyes fixed on the deep flush of it, the sloped head, and the thick veins that ran up the girth. He’d never seen a grown man’s erect cock before and his mind stuttered to a halt at seeing one now. 

It was the nip of teeth that brought him out of his daze. The Commander moved, sitting back up so he could look down on himself and Credence underneath him, whose legs were still spread over the sides of his hips. Credence wondered what he must look like to this man. By comparison, he was tiny. Everywhere. 

The Commander shifted and pulled his pants off the rest of the way and carelessly tossed them aside. He was as bare as Credence then, skin pale and smooth. The only hair was a light trail leading from his belly down to… _there_. Credence’s eyes fell on it again and the man’s face split into a smile. He reached down and took hold of one of Credence’s hands, and this time Credence was too dazed for his limbs to stiffen. The Commander brought it to the base of that length and cupped Credence’s slim fingers around it. 

“You’re welcome to touch.” His smile grew wider, clearly enjoying the sensation while he ran Credence’s hand up the thick shaft. 

Credence’s mouth fell open. The skin was a fine layer of silk over rock hardness underneath. With the encouragement of the Commander’s gaze, he gave a tentative squeeze. His fingers barely wrapped around it. He imagined what it might feel like for the Commander, and then the man’s eyes closed and he let out a deep breath before falling on Credence again.

It startled him, the way the Commander attacked his mouth. His hand remained trapped, and the Commander squeezed firmly around Credence’s fingers. The sudden aggression made him tremble. He felt like he was about to break apart from the immensity of the sensations being laid upon him. His skin raised with goose bumps even though he felt hot all over. Every nerve ending inside him was alight, but especially the ones under the Commander’s mouth and hands, and he could _feel_ the cock under his fingers responding to the touch before the Commander abruptly let go and began to move down Credence’s body. 

His mouth ended just beside Credence’s own small erection, and Credence’s world narrowed down to that wet heat and soft pressure. He was filled to the brim with sensation, and he hoped desperately that it would continue. That all of this would continue.

He let his legs fall apart and breathed out with as little sound as he could, but he couldn’t suppress a soft whimper or the way his toes curled when the man’s tongue darted out to graze against the tiny, straining erection between his legs. 

The next sound caught in Credence’s throat and never made it out. The Commander’s tongue felt nothing like his palm had, but it was just as good. Hot and precise, and _wet_ , the man curled it around the base of Credence’s little cock with teasing licks and touches until Credence’s whimpers finally broke free. He tried not to squirm—not when the man’s face was right there, pressed up against his pelvis like that. Credence feared that if he made any sudden movements, the Commander wouldn’t like it, but he couldn’t _help it_. 

His legs drew up, pressed tight to either side of the Commander’s torso, thrilling at the feeling of so much skin against skin. He shifted this way and that in the tiniest motions, wanting so much and trying to get just a little more. 

The Commander teased him, reading the wordless pleas in Credence’s body but steering clear of granting them directly. His lips made sure to keep Credence wanting, squirming, and eventually outright bucking with a whimpered little apology. Credence put his hands over his face in embarrassment. His whole body felt flushed, and the room was starting to spin—from the wine or from the Commander’s mouth, he couldn’t say. Every good sensation he had felt since the Commander touched his neck had gathered deep in the core of his pelvis, and while it had been nice at first, it was now throbbing, and clouding his mind. His hips were leading his mind on a leash, demanding more sensation and telling him to do stupid things like thrust at the Commander’s face.

The soft slick of the Commander’s mouth drew away, leaving the wetness on Credence’s skin to chill against the open air. He wanted to apologize some more—to correct himself for presuming—but before he could get the words out, he found his penis suddenly engulfed in wet heat. His hands flew to the sheets with a broken gasp, gathering desperate handfuls of the material and wringing it in white-knuckled fists. The Commander was _sucking_ , moving up and down on his tiny shaft with a fierce insistence. It felt like he was trying to suck the pool of heat in Credence’s groin right out of his body. But none of it was coming out. Instead, Credence felt the pressure build unbearably, and his little organ grew almost painfully stiff and sensitive in the Commander’s mouth. His back was arched so far off the mattress that only his buttocks and the back of his head still made contact with it. He wanted to sob, to scream, to beg—but his muteness was so ingrained in him that it choked down all the sounds that were clawing to burst out.

And then, just when he thought he would rupture, a deep, sweet spasm swept through the pressure and released it all at once. It was a release more profound than any Credence had ever felt. More deeply satisfying even than the release of a good cry or the tingling relief that settled in after a painful lashing was over. This release was pure pleasure, and it rippled out into his body with each successive spasm, flooding even his very fingertips and toes with the sweet balm of bliss. If there had ever been an ache or a tension anywhere in Credence’s body, he couldn’t tell now. It was all swept away as his back finally relaxed and he flopped back onto the furs, slipping out of the Commander’s mouth. He laid there with his eyes closed, sprawled like a ragdoll and tuning into the gentle aftershocks that still whispered deep in his veins. His head was floating, filled with white light. He should have cared that the Commander was still staring; he should have cared that he was just lying there, ignoring him; but for once, Credence did not give one single thought to the demands of his insecurities. For a few brief, blessed moments, the cringe in his shoulders was gone.

The Commander moved over him, eyes drinking Credence in with a new gleam that made Credence’s stomach tingle. The man’s hands laid over his hips and drew up his body in a slow, sensuous massage that only pulled Credence under deeper. He felt like he might sink into the furs beneath him and never surface again. 

Credence’s eyes fluttered. When the Commander laid himself out over his body, weight pressing him down into the mattress, he thought it might happen. Down and down and down he’d go, caged in skin and fur and warmth and satisfaction forever. It wouldn’t feel as much like a cage then, he thought distantly, as the Commander’s hands turned him over. He pressed his cheek into one soft pillow and sighed. 

The hands drew down his body. The Commander’s mouth brushed the back of his neck, disturbing the short hairs there with warm breath. Credence would have shivered had he any tension left in his muscles to do so. One of the Commander’s hands drew down between his buttocks and stroked there. Distantly, Credence thought it odd, the way his thumb was smoothing in circles over that unmentionable flesh, but then, it was one of Credence’s softest places. Somewhere in his mind, that made it make sense—that the Commander would like to touch him there for that simple reason. He didn’t think much more when he felt wetness added to the caress, nor even when it grew more insistent, the whole length of the fingers running just beneath his balls all the way up to the crack. Everywhere over his most private places. This man had access to all of him without a second thought, and through Credence’s hazy mind and the recent memories of his misery in the camp, he didn’t question it. 

One large hand planted beside him and Credence let his eyes drift shut, wondering if the Commander was going to lay with him, but then his knees were parted just a little more and something slick and blunt replaced the fingers that had been moving between his cheeks. The haze in Credence’s mind made the mental image foggy, but he thought he knew what the Commander was doing. Thought he knew, until the shaft dragged upward through his cleft and a great pressure was suddenly applied where he’d never felt anything like that before. Credence didn’t know what was happening. His mind couldn’t catch up and make sense of this new feeling—not until something breached. 

Credence’s eyes widened, realizing that the Commander’s cock, which had been pressing up against him, was now partially _inside_ him. 

When he gasped, Credence felt the Commander’s arm wind underneath him, body sinking down on top of him and _deeper_ at the same time. Credence whimpered, feeling a dull but strong pain, as well as a fear of what irrevocable damage this might do to him. He could barely have imagined this if he hadn’t felt the hardness of every new inch pushing inside him. 

“Shhh now,” came a voice in his ear. “You’re alright. Just relax; you were doing so well.” 

Credence knew he had no choice. But he was scared—so very scared. The sharp knife of panic cut into the soft bliss of moments ago, and the two sensations warred inside his limbs. His muscles wanted to stiffen in self-defense, but had been so thoroughly kneaded by the Commander’s attentions that everything felt limp and weak. His head swirled with shock and confusion, trying to work out how to react to something he didn’t understand.

The hand that wasn’t planted by Credence’s side settled warmly onto his lower back and slid up the length of his spine.

“All you need to do… is nothing,” the Commander whispered. When they held still like this, Credence could feel the wizard’s pulse against the sore skin of his opening, which was stretched so tight around the intruding mass that Credence thought it might snap. “All you _can_ do… is nothing. Do you understand? Let go.”

Credence heard a sharp, tragic sob. It was surreal to know it was his own voice. The fur beneath his cheek was wet with his tears, and he turned his face into it, breathing in the musk of the leather and seeking comfort in the darkness. Behind him, as if far away, the most private part of his body throbbed from the forced openness. It was a little less alarming now that the pain had fully settled in, and Credence could feel things the way they were. Reorient himself. It had seemed so impossible, those first few instants, suddenly having something _inside_ him like that. He thought he had been stabbed, opened, destroyed—but now, there was only this dull, raw throbbing. The severe pain of injury Credence had anticipated never came. Whatever the Commander was doing, it was deeply uncomfortable, but probably not dangerous. It couldn’t be. The wizard had been so nice to him…

“That’s right…” The Commander’s hand was on the back of his neck now, massaging the tensing muscles there. His voice had a new edge to it, thin on its previous patience. Credence let out a muffled yelp as a sharp, eager movement of the Commander’s hips moved the mass inside him. “Be a good boy, now…”

There really was nothing else to do. Credence made the decision against the private darkness of the furs and took another heady, suffocating breath before turning his head back toward the open air and giving what he hoped was a perceptible nod. In an act of will so different from any he had exercised before, Credence made himself… let go. Like cutting the strings to a marionette, he relinquished his body and let it become limp beneath the Commander’s weight. Although his anxiety remained, a strange peace settled over him as well. No matter how terrible or scary this was going to be, there was nothing for him to do but endure it.

The Commander seemed to feel his victory in Credence’s slackened body, and the hand on his neck moved to the furs at his side, giving the wizard more leverage.

Credence closed his eyes.

The body part inside him slid out a ways, yielding a few, precious inches of relief. But then the Commander’s hips came down hard, and Credence made a choked sound as it all filled up again—and more. He couldn’t gather himself before it happened again—the Commander’s flesh dragging out and Credence feeling every inch against the tight ring of his opening before it slammed back in. He tried to breathe between thrusts, but they came too fast, so that the length of his gasping inhale was punctuated by each jolt of motion. He felt a deep, achy pressure in the depths of his being where the Commander’s hard flesh impaled him deeper with every inward thrust. The rough in and out motions seemed to be plowing Credence open a little at a time, though he whined out loud despite himself when the Commander ground down to increase the breach.

“Here…”

Credence was shaking as the Commander shifted behind him, the weight of his body lifting as he sat back. Credence felt the man’s hardness slip out of him a ways, but it was still lodged so tightly that it helped to drag Credence onto the man’s lap when strong hands hooked around his hips and pulled them up. He moaned as he slid against the fur, his body as lax from the shock of it all as the echoes of pleasure from before. His own penis felt overly sensitive against the blankets, and he noted distantly that it was hard again, though he couldn’t understand why.

One of the Commander’s hands pressed down on his lower back, and Credence let himself be pliant. He felt the wizard put a bit of his weight into it, making Credence’s back curve almost to the point of discomfort. His other hand grasped Credence’s hip, the pads of his fingers pressing into Credence’s abdomen while his thumb dug into the center of his lower back. Credence’s penis began to throb, responding to the handling with a mind of its own. It was a sharper pleasure than the one he had felt before, mingled with pain and fear in confusing ways.

The Commander shifted again, adjusting his angle, and then sank down. Straight down. Sinking into the full depths of Credence’s body and spreading him open with the blunt pressure of his shaft until there was nothing left in Credence but an overwhelming feeling of fullness. The force of the grown man’s weight brought the intrusion past the deepest points of pressure Credence had felt before, and he felt his whole body give a distant shudder before going utterly limp beneath the wizard’s hands. He had no choice but to trust him now—trust him completely, with the most vulnerable depths of his being. Credence felt that if he shifted, tightened, or resisted, he might break. So instead, he let himself become air, splayed and bent at the Commander’s mercy.

He heard a deep groan of satisfaction from the Commander’s throat as their bodies sank fully together—almost a growl. The wizard didn’t move at first, seeming to pause just to savor the sensation of sinking so deep. Credence took the opportunity to breathe, and to settle back into his limbs. The throbbing in his groin seemed to blur with the throbbing deep in his behind, where he could feel the Commander’s rigid member pulsing. Experimentally, he tried to tighten his muscles back there, just to grasp the contours of the man, but he was stretched so taut that his muscles had nowhere to contract, and they only quivered weakly in response. He heard the Commander groan again.

The experiment resulted in another deep thrust, lifting Credence’s hips even higher as the Commander loomed over him, driving his cock down into Credence’s body. He felt like his back was bent as far as it could go, just shy of uncomfortable. When he turned his head to catch a glimpse of the man behind him, he saw the Commander up on his knees, leaning over Credence with one hand planted against the bed and the other on his hip, and Credence could see the man’s cock sinking inside of him. 

It took his breath away to see the girth of it driving in and out as the Commander began to work up a rhythm. Credence couldn’t believe it was going into him. Couldn’t believe his body could take something like that, just as he couldn’t believe _this_ man, this _wizard_ , was doing it to him. 

The ache inside him began to dull the more he accepted it, and Credence wasn’t sure if that meant he was relaxing or whether his body was just getting used to it. The slickness between them was dripping down his thighs, and Credence had no idea where it had come from, only that it helped. 

After a time, the Commander sat back on his haunches and pulled Credence’s hips flush against him, thrusting forward and into him at the same time. Credence gasped. It was involuntary; a small sound with every thrust, the sheer force of them driving little noises out of his throat. It was so disorienting. He was usually so good at staying quiet, but this he couldn’t help.

Apparently determined to use Credence’s body in a variety of positions, the Commander shifted forward, his weight sinking down on top of Credence’s back so that he could drive into him with just his hips. This time, something about the angle changed for Credence as well. Something that made Credence whimper louder than before, but not in pain. A deep pleasure was suddenly building inside him every time the Commander’s cock pressed deep. Credence couldn’t explain it, except that it felt reminiscent of when the Commander had his mouth on him, only it was inside. 

It made him squirm and try to tighten his muscles again—not from discomfort this time, but just to see what it would feel like. Above him, so close now that the Commander had his chest and stomach pressed to Credence’s back, the man groaned again. He had to curve his back and lean his head down when he nuzzled against the back of Credence’s ear, being so much bigger. 

“You have no idea what it feels like when you do that, do you?”

Credence’s heart skipped a beat. The Commander’s arms wrapped around him and pressed Credence tight between himself and the bed. Credence could barely move like that, but that didn’t stop his attempts at squirming, nor that minute clench of muscle when the sensations filling him up became too much and he felt like he might go mad if he didn’t move. He hadn’t thought about what it would feel like from the Commander’s end when he squeezed like that, but the man certainly seemed to like it. 

Credence didn’t feel like he had the words to respond. In the overwhelming onslaught of sensation, he didn’t know whether to nod or to shake his head; didn’t know which would tell the Commander that no, he really had no idea what it felt like from his end because Credence was too consumed by the other side. Between the sheer impossibility of this situation and the sensations coursing through him, Credence could barely think at all. The wine was somewhere in the mix, making sure of it.

And then the Commander tightened his grip. His breath became ragged and he squeezed Credence so hard, Credence thought it might split skin. The thrusts turned sharp and nearing the edge of painful again before the Commander pressed his nose to Credence’s hair and gave a soft cry. It was a strangely vulnerable sound, compared to his previous groans. His hips drove into Credence once last time, pressing his cock deeper and deeper until it was buried as far as it would go, the weight of the man nearly smothering him. He held like that for a long time, muscles taut and caging Credence in from every possible angle, restricting even the barest motions. All Credence could do was let it happen. Let himself be held, restrained, moved where the wizard wanted him. It should have been awful, but then a hand began petting his hair, and Credence sighed into the fullness of the Commander’s member inside him, relishing the pressure it put on that place where all his pleasure had built. In the stillness that passed between them, the edge of pain fell away, and somehow, the arms around him didn’t feel like such a terrible cage. 

When the man finally eased his grip and sank to the side, Credence fell with him. He felt the cock inside him pull free, inch by inch until he was empty. The Commander laid next to him, flat on his back and breathing deep, one arm still loosely wound around Credence’s torso. 

Credence was free again. He didn’t know what to do. Everything inside him felt raw, but half empty. Echoes of pain and pleasure still tingled inside him and the open air that replaced it felt strange. 

Tentatively, Credence turned over on his other side to face the Commander. The man was staring up at the cloth of the ceiling, his eyes distant and his breathing starting to even out. He wasn’t paying any attention to Credence anymore. It looked like he’d forgotten Credence was even there, and for some reason that stung a little. Credence looked at the arm still beneath him, and after a moment’s thought, he gripped it and dug his nails in just a little—desperate to have a bit of the man’s attention again. The Commander blinked, and turned his head. 

Those mismatched eyes looked through Credence like the Commander had been looking at the ceiling, and Credence slackened his hold on the man’s upper arm. His heart was beating fast again, anxious now that he’d gotten what he wanted. 

The Commander’s eyes slowly searched Credence’s face before moving down the bare length of his neck and lower still. They stopped when they reached Credence’s groin. A look of quiet surprise came over the Commander’s face, and when Credence looked down, he saw that he was still hard. He could feel it, the sensation simmering just under his skin and in the empty passage the Commander had inhabited. 

A slow smile spread over the Commander’s face and his eyes darted up to meet Credence’s. The man came to life again as he lifted himself up on one arm and rolled Credence onto his back, hovering over him. 

“Enjoyed that, did you?” 

Credence was sure he was going to stop breathing for good if this kept happening, but he laid himself out quietly underneath the man and something small and traitorous thrilled at the wickedness in his eye. 

“Mmh…” the Commander hummed thoughtfully, perching his elbows on either side of Credence’s head. He brushed Credence’s hair back, and Credence was surprised to feel it sticking against his forehead. Sweat. Sweat from the heat of the fire, furs, and flesh, yes, but Credence also suspected that being ravaged had been rougher exercise than he’d realized. In the moment, it had all been so overwhelming, but now he could feel the subtle burn creeping into his muscles, joining the faint throb of his hardness—and of the part of him that had just been so thoroughly broken open.

Credence squirmed as he tuned into that part of himself, still feeling the oddness of it. It was wet down there, and when Credence shifted, he felt liquid ooze out of him. It made a sound, and Credence blushed to his roots, curling his shoulders in with embarrassment.

“Shh, that’s alright… Mein Schatz…” The Commander’s hand trailed down, his fingertips brushing lightly down Credence’s throat, and then down over his chest and the sensitive skin of his belly. Credence squirmed a little against the ticklishness of it, but quickly grew still as the Commander’s touch neared the hard little rod between his legs, suspended with a breathless hopefulness. He wanted the Commander to touch him there again. He wanted it so badly.

Above him, the Commander hissed a breath in through his teeth, and Credence tried to blink up at him with bleary eyes, though all he saw were bits of clarity amid the fogginess, as if looking through a frosted glass. He saw the Commander’s Adam’s apple, and the momentary flare of a jugular muscle… A sheen of moisture clinging to the shapely expanse of his chest…

Suddenly it all crowded very close, and Credence felt the wizard’s lips pressing against his forehead with a confounding gentleness.

The Commander’s hand moved lower.

It brushed over Credence’s member, which sent a wave of gooseflesh up his body, but didn’t linger. Instead, the Commander’s fingers made straight for that ravaged place between Credence’s legs again, and almost as if watching someone else, Credence found himself drawing his knees up and planting his feet flat against the furs to give the Commander better access. He tried to relax, this time. It had been so frightening when it had pushed into him like that, without warning, but now he knew the Commander didn’t actually mean to harm him. Things were sore down there, but he was used to being sore. He was _willing_ to be sore, now that the tenderness had returned. In fact, he’d give almost anything to keep it. He felt like he was floating, now. Hollow inside and vaguely unreal.

The Commander’s fingers rubbed gentle circles over the raw opening, smearing the fluids around. The effect was soothing, even if it was all very sensitive. Credence liked the way the wetness felt.

“You want my come back inside you, don’t you?” the Commander whispered. Credence wasn’t sure what he meant, but an instant later, the wizard’s fore- and middle finger were breaching into him. They slipped in so easily, sinking into Credence’s body like a sigh of relief. After the blunt heft of the Commander’s member, two fingers felt like gentle play. Credence was surprised by how much his body melted into it, yearning for that bit of fullness again after being so suddenly bereft. It made the ache in his groin stronger, and when Credence peered down, he saw his own penis twitching in the air, as if declaring its longing to be touched.

“Do you know how special you are…?”

Credence looked back up and found the Commander peering intently down at him as he worked his fingers slowly in and out of Credence’s depths. Something about the look in the man’s eyes went straight to Credence’s gut, and a sweet, beautiful certainty blossomed there. Credence didn’t think he was anything special, but in this moment, he felt for a certainty that he was special _to this man_. This wizard.

Credence arched his back, remembering how the Commander had made him do it when he wanted to go deeper.

“Please…” Credence whispered.

_’I’m yours,’_ was what he wanted to say, with the entirety of his being. ‘Make _me yours.’_

But it was too complicated a thing to express. Just a feeling. Not something he had words for.

“Keep me,” he whispered instead.

He didn’t ever want to leave this tent and go back do the camp and its miseries below. He wanted to stay here in this warm bed with this gentle, captivating man pinning him under his body and attentions. _Inside_ him, so literally. Touching him.

The Commander’s expression twisted up for a moment, but then his fingers curved firmly up against some part inside of Credence that made him close his eyes and gasp, and everything was darkness and pleasure. As it built, and built, a truth crystallized inside of Credence: that however strange, or difficult, or incomprehensible, this was home.

Credence shuddered when, counterpoint to the fingers driving inside him, wet heat surrounded his erection. He heard himself cry out, a high and muffled sound, and felt, for the second time that night, nothing but the bliss of climax. The heat and pressure increased as he fell apart, shaking, with sounds coming out of his throat he never knew he could make until they finally gave way to quiet, content breaths. 

When his eyes fluttered open again, he saw that head of white blond hair between his legs. He couldn’t see what the Commander was doing, but he could feel every inch of it. Little licks and swirls of a tongue replaced the sucking pressure of the man’s mouth and every one of them sent residual tingles down Credence’s spine. That tongue moved away from his sensitive cock and carried on to the crease of his thigh. Credence shivered. Lick by little lick, the Commander tasted him in the most sensitive areas, and Credence couldn’t believe he was left trembling so. He wasn’t sure he could move if he wanted to anymore. That should have bothered him, he knew, but all he could feel was a rapidly building certainty in his desire to stay. 

Before he knew it, another whimper left his throat, but it didn’t sound like those he’d released at the height of pleasure. It brought the wizard’s eyes up to him again, searching. Without thinking of propriety, Credence reached for him, small hands grasping at the Commander’s arms and trying to draw him up again. Closer. 

Amusement flashed across the Commander’s mismatched eyes, but he went. He crawled back up the short length of Credence’s body, moving furs aside so that he could look down at Credence, who was looking right back up at him. 

Credence’s heart beat faster when he was searched like that. The Commander’s eyes pierced straight through him somehow, as though he could know Credence’s every thought and desire with a mere look. _Maybe wizards could do that_ , Credence thought, wildly, although he’d seen no evidence of it with the guards. Even Graves—whom Credence realized must still be standing beside the doorway on the lower level—had not known he was awake and aware the whole time they’d walked together. The Commander, though… Credence wasn’t so sure. 

A smile played at the corner of the wizard’s mouth and his eyes crinkled around the edges before he stroked the back of a finger gently over Credence’s cheek, and Credence found himself flushing. He tried to push his thoughts about this man away, just in case this moment shared between them wasn’t as silent as it seemed.

The Commander sat himself up on one arm and drew a cloth from somewhere Credence couldn’t see. It may have been out of thin air, for it was warm and damp and heavenly when he drew it up Credence’s thighs, in between his legs, and over his stomach. He was being cleaned, but it felt more like a warm massage, and Credence turned his head towards the man and let his eyes close. 

If this was a dream, he decided, he never wanted to wake up again. 

A quiet chuckle met his ears, and then with a soft brush of wind, he was dry again. Credence would have looked to see, but strong arms and heavy blankets were wrapping around him. The Commander was settling down beside him and Credence was too tired to move. Too tired to think. 

“Rest now,” the man whispered against his cheek. 

Credence thought he nodded, but he was falling under so fast, he wasn’t sure if he actually did.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're sorry this one took a little longer than usual. To comfort you, the Piper of Hameln has illustrated one of the scenes from this chapter! We hope you enjoy. -Herr G.
> 
> [CLICK HERE FOR ART](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13652289?view_adult=true)

The texture of furs floated into Credence’s consciousness before he was properly awake. Piece by piece, other sensations followed. The achy, languid sensation that spoke of sleeping as long as his body needed to, and the notable absence of the morning whistle. The echoes of dreams. The dull throbbing of a sore bottom, almost pleasant in its faint burn. And… and the sensation of being watched.

Credence’s eyes shot open.

For a moment, his vision was so blurred from sleep that all he saw was the shape of a great, dark obelisk rising above him. But with a couple of blinks, the shadow resolved itself into the looming figure of one Lieutenant General Graves. The wizard had a knee on the bed, almost touching Credence’s shoulder, and was grasping onto a post with one hand. The other hand-….

Credence gasped, and his body came to life all at once, tensing up to crawl back and away. But he hadn’t gotten an inch before the Lieutenant raised a finger to his lips and let out a harsh, sharp, “ _Sh._ ”

Credence understood at once. Though still tense, he ceased all motion, breathing shallowly as the man continued the work of his right hand. Right hand. Right side. His _scar_ side.

_Don’t look at it,_ Credence thought, closing his eyes and turning his head aside—only to find his face in a hard grip, his lips crushed into a fishy pout as he was turned roughly back toward his master.

“Keep your eyes open,” the wizard commanded, his voice raspy with arousal. The sound of his stroking was a rhythmic whisper that drove Credence’s anxiety deeper and deeper, making his heart race ahead of the pace. His cheeks burned when the wizard released him, and he vaguely wondered whether he would have finger-shaped bruises on his face in a few hours.

Unable to close his eyes or turn his head away, Credence faced the problem of where to look. He just had to wait until it was over—that was all. If he was good and laid still, perhaps the wizard would not want to do anything worse to him. But that _scar_ —it beckoned for his gaze, and Credence knew that if he stared at it, he’d go mad with fear. So he dragged his eyes down to the second most shocking thing about the man: his erect penis, jutting out of his unbuttoned uniform, with its bright red head appearing and disappearing into a tight, wettened fist.

It was soothing to stare at the repetitive motion, somehow, and the wizard did not seem to mind. The sight of an erect, adult penis brought memories from the night before flooding into Credence’s mind, and he exhaled with relief that those memories were still there. He summoned them like a shield, stroking them in his thoughts. Burrowing into memories of warmth and pleasure. Of the Commander’s playful gray eye, and his intimidating dark one.

“Ah fuck… hng…”

The General’s voice was nothing like the Commander’s, but as Credence got over his startlement and let himself relax just a fraction, the carnal edge in it began to percolate through his pores. He remembered the heat from the night before, and the way the Commander’s want had crushed him into the furs in the most heady, wonderful way. What the General was doing seemed so cold in comparison, and Credence found himself beset by the strangest wish that the man would make a little more contact. Not something hard and painful, the way he’d grabbed Credence’s face, but maybe… just touching him in some way, if he was going to use him like this. A hand on his shoulder. Scooting a knee against his arm. Anything. As it was, Credence was keenly aware of his own naked skin, his bared front cool against the air and his back sweaty against the furs. The glowing fire from the night before had long since burned out, and the loft room was all shadows with slim streaks of cool morning light cutting in from somewhere beyond.

The bed suddenly warped under him as the wizard released the post and fell forward, catching himself on one arm, towering over him in an arch that brought his member within inches of Credence’s face. His stroking motions were so fast now that Credence held his breath, a little frightened by all the intensity crowding in.

“Close… fuck… so close…” 

Credence thought that maybe if he could be still enough, it might help. Or at least not provoke another grab at his jaw. When he had to breathe again, he tried to will away the heady scent of sex just inches from his nose. He could make out a clear bit of fluid at the very tip of the swollen head in front of him. The wizard’s calloused thumb brushed over it and spread the glistening wetness down the side of the shaft. 

The wizard’s breath drew in harder. He sounded at the very edge, and Credence thought he must look it, too, but he still didn’t dare look up at the man’s face. The attention was too strong on him, and Credence knew he would be caught in it, unable to look away. 

But last night, the Commander’s attention had been on him. Last night hadn’t been like this, and it made Credence wonder. Graves sounded like he was having trouble, his panting edging into a whine at the end of each breath, and Credence thought that maybe, if he just thought of last night…. 

With a flush of boldness, Credence lifted a hand and reached up. His heart pounded in his chest as he grazed his fingertips over the ridge of the head. 

He pulled his hand away twice as fast when Graves sucked in a breath through his teeth. A lance of fear drove into Credence’s gut that he’d done something wrong, and he couldn’t stop himself—he looked up. 

Dark eyes under heavy, twisted brows met his own, holding Credence’s gaze despite the draw of gnarled flesh at the side of the man’s face and the way his teeth clenched tight in effort. The wizard was trying to quiet himself, Credence realized, before another groan escaped Graves’ mouth and he resumed his activity, more hurried than before. The thrust of his hips grew erratic, and suddenly globs of warm fluid were landing on Credence’s face. 

Credence pulled his hand away immediately, wincing and startled. He screwed his eyes shut and scrunched up his nose, waiting for it to be over. After what seemed like endless spurts landing on his cheeks and mouth—even dripping across his eyelids—it was. No more fell, and Credence heard the wizard’s heavy breathing above him turn into one long exhale. 

There was silence afterward. Graves slumped. The wooden bedpost creaked, and Credence expected to feel the man’s hand, but no touch came. He heard the rustle of fabric and wanted to wipe at his eyes so he could look, but uncertainty kept him rooted to the spot. 

When the sound of boots hit the floor, Credence knew the wizard was standing. The scent of the man’s release filled his nostrils, overwhelming in its unfamiliarity, but a moment later, Credence heard a whispered word, and the mess vanished without a trace. All of it. The wetness dripping down his face and the immediacy of the smell, all gone. 

Tentatively, Credence opened his eyes. He found there was no residual wetness left on his lashes, and after a few blinks, he found himself looking up at the man, his penis put away and his uniform and posture now perfectly poised. But for the scar, nothing interrupted the neat, clean lines of his composure. 

Credence drew in a shaky breath, and then the floor creaked from below. His eyes shot to the ladder. Shoes sounding atop its rungs preceded the appearance of a now familiar head of platinum hair. 

“News from the south: Salzburg fell last night. They’ll be clearing out the town for the next few days.” The Commander looked to be in a good mood and did not seem at all perturbed to see Graves standing over Credence and his bed. 

Graves, on the other hand, looked like he’d been caught with his hand in the candy jar. He turned his back on Credence, clasping his hands behind his back and facing his Commander with an erect, attentive posture. It was almost comedic, the way he sprang into place, halfway obscuring Credence as if that would conceal what he had been up to. Credence leaned up on his elbow to peek past the General’s hip, eager and hopeful at the Commander’s presence. He laid there in quiet obedience, waiting to be noticed.

Commander Grindelwald drew himself within inches of Graves’ face, and had eyes for nothing else.

“You’re flushed, Percival,” he remarked calmly. Credence thought he might have been trying to humiliate the man, but the tone didn’t quite fit that narrative. It was too… sensual.

A creeping anxiety took hold in Credence’s belly, but he refused to acknowledge it just yet.

“Sorry, sir.”

“Tsk… Don’t be.”

One of Grindelwald’s black-gloved hands rose up to Graves’ face, its fingertips trailing lightly down the side. From where Credence lay, he couldn’t see the contact directly, but he knew that Grindelwald was touching the scar side. He was… he was tracing the scar itself. Fondly.

Graves’ breathy shudder disguised Credence’s own.

“You’ve never asked me to fix it,” Grindelwald remarked. There was a glint in his eyes as he searched the other man’s gaze, his posture as relaxed as Graves’ was not. Credence got the feeling there was a sort of test in that question. The same cruel tests he and the other children were subjected to in the camp below, daily. Tricky questions with slippery answers that had to be considered carefully, but quickly.

“No, sir,” Graves agreed, gruff and laconic even with his master.

“Why is that?” Grindelwald gave a pondering tut. He was still… _caressing_ it.

Only Credence could see the way Graves squeezed his hands in uncertainty.

“Because… you would have fixed it if you wanted to. Sir.”

The Commander’s caress halted, and Credence’s eyes glued to the wizard’s face, holding his breath as he waited for a reaction. Graves’ tension was contagious.

A few seconds passed in silence… and then Grindelwald smiled, and Credence watched Graves’ white-knuckled hands release and stretch.

“Quite right,” Gellert confirmed,speaking with a voice as soft and husky as the one he’d used with Credence last night. A lover’s voice.

Credence’s guts squirmed as Gellert continued to gaze at the other wizard’s eyes for many moments more, before his hand finally dropped away—and he turned to go.

Credence’s spirits plummeted through the floor. They went crashing into the room below, and then further than that, tumbling down through every layer of the pyramid until they landed in the horse manure at the bottom.

_Don’t go!_ he wanted to shout, and to his horror, almost did so—but managed to clamp down on his own voice at the last instant, releasing little more than a despairing hiccup.

“Obliviate the boy, if you’re done. Put him back in the camp with the others.”

The sheer heartbreak of those words made Credence choke. Not just their content, but their delivery—thrown casually over a shoulder as the Commander walked away, with not even a glance in Credence’s direction. Panic roiled up inside him, worse than any he had ever felt—even when facing the unknown. This was deprivation, because there was finally something to take away. This was true cold, because there was warmth to cast him out of. This was _abandonment._ This was desperation.

“No!” he cried out, bounding out of the bed, naked and pink as the day he was born. His outburst was so sudden that even Graves was caught off guard, and his grabbing hands didn’t reach in time. Credence slipped away, crossing the short distance to the Commander in seconds, and threw his arms around the wizard’s waist, pressing his tear-streaked cheek to his back. “Please don’t… Don’t make me go away…”

Beneath his grip, the Commander was stiff. His stride had paused, but he made no move to turn around and confront Credence’s tears. Instead, he waited—and sure enough, a much rougher pair of hands grasped Credence from behind, prying him away.

“NO!” he cried out again, truly out of his mind with fear and grief this time. And then: “No! No! NO, no!” Over and over, like a wounded animal, thrashing in the Lieutenant’s grasp.

Distantly, he heard the Commander’s voice—”Get it done.”—before watching the figure retreat through the cloud of his tears, getting one last look at the face that had promised him so much tenderness as the wizard turned to climb the ladder. And then, it was gone, too fast even for Credence to take a picture in his head.

“Master!” he cried out, in one long, lurching sob that devolved into mindless crying. He stopped trying to claw his way forward when the Commander disappeared out of view, knowing deep down that he’d lost. The General eased the painful hardness of his grip a few moments later, when he was more certain the fight had gone out of his captive. 

Credence was fairly certain he’d scratched the wizard in his efforts to get away, or at least kicked him in a sensitive area. He was surprised the man hadn’t snapped his neck already. That would almost be better. It would be over quick, and he wouldn’t have to be scared. He wouldn’t have to go back down to the camp below; back to a life of daily subjugation and misery, with only the memory of something better to comfort his nights.

…Of course, they were going to take _that_ from him too, weren’t they.

Credence suddenly stilled, his sobs dying in his throat as awareness of this new threat crept into his limbs and froze him like a cautious deer.

“Don’t worry,” the gruff voice said behind him, with surprising gentleness. Careful but unyielding hands were maneuvering him back onto the bed. “Soon, you won’t know there’s anything to miss. If it helps at all… I understand. He’s like that. Gets into you. Some days I think I’d take your mercy over mine. Tasting and forgetting, rather than never tasting at all.”

Credence sat back on the furs, dazed by the unexpected confession, and by the ringing in his own head from his sudden bout of panic.

“Now then… You can close your eyes, if you like. It won’t hurt.”

The wizard’s wand was out.

Credence tracked it, his chest heaving with every breath, but his mind already blank. There was no way out. No way around the man to get to the ladder, no way through the tent—and even if there was, there was nowhere to go but down. The air burned in Credence’s lungs, but for all the desperation he felt, he couldn’t think of a single thing to do as Graves’ hand rose above dark eyes that seemed a touch softer than before. 

It came down in one long stroke as Graves intoned the word Credence most feared. 

“ _Obliviate_.” 

Credence fell back. His arms flew up and crossed over his face protectively as the room lit up in a blinding flash. It covered everything, so brilliant he had to screw his eyes shut, and a cry escaped him before he could help it. 

And then, everything went still. 

The world was dark. Credence could hear his own rough breathing. Feel the softness of the bed against his back, and the weight of his own arms held tight around his head. His heart was still pounding. He was still in the same room, on the same furs, in the Commander’s tent above the camp. He hadn’t forgotten.

Slowly, Credence unlocked his arms, daring to peek out from the ball he’d reflexively pulled himself into, and froze at what he saw. 

There stood Graves, his arm still outstretched and his wand pointed straight at Credence. He waited for the wizard to fire again, but the General was just standing there, a wavering statue. That bit of sympathy in those brown eyes had gone, but Graves’ earlier coldness hadn’t replaced it. To Credence, his expression looked more like… confusion. 

Credence’s lips parted and he glanced around the room, but nothing else had changed. When he set his sights on Graves again, he lowered his arms to his lap and stared into Graves’ eyes. He knew he wasn’t supposed to look at the wizard like that, but a horrifying suspicion was dawning in the pit of his stomach and quickly spreading with goosebumps to the rest of his limbs. His mouth went dry. He knew he had only seconds to take advantage, if he was right.

Credence opened his mouth and found he had to forcibly push the words out.

“What happened?” 

His voice was so small even he could barely hear it, but he couldn’t look away from Graves. Every twitch in the man’s face would tell Credence whether he was right or wrong. 

The wizard blinked and then lowered his wand. He blinked again and rolled his shoulders back, as if trying to straighten his already perfect posture. It wasn’t just Credence’s imagination—he seemed disoriented for several moments, before he gathered himself back together.

Credence grew more confident.

_The spell had backfired. Graves had erased his own memories instead._

“Where am I?” Credence asked, with feigned confusion. He had an idea of how to get out of there with his mind still intact, but he was reeling all the while. His hands were shaking. He tried to use it. He looked down at himself as though he hadn’t known he was already naked and swiped one of the furs to cover himself. 

Graves rubbed the side of his head, stretching the marbled flesh in a way Credence couldn’t look away from, and pocketed his wand.

“You’ve been sick. Needed to be looked after, but you’re alright now.” Finally, Graves looked like he had a grasp of the right narrative again, and he finished with confidence. “I’m here to take you back.” 

“Oh,” Credence said, and focused on looking frightened. He didn’t want to overplay it, though he’d been able to fool the man well enough the night before. He didn’t have to feign his anxiety as he scrambled to find his clothing, eager to be out of the man’s grasp before he could think too hard about the situation and notice something amiss.

Graves grew impatient as Credence was hunting for his shirt and barked for him to hurry, sending a sharp but harmless zap at Credence’s bottom. Over his shoulder, Credence could see Graves rubbing his temple, his frustrations clearly amplified by a headache. That made Credence’s stomach drop another inch. Knowing that it hurt. Having one’s memories taken away.

Credence looked for his socks and shoes, before remembering that he’d walked all the way there with bare feet and would have to do so again on the way back. He whined internally, mournful of all the blisters he’d have.

“Let’s go,” Graves grumbled, and gave Credence a little jab between the shoulder blades as they walked—though clearly, his heart was not in it.

Credence had hoped they might take the long way down, so that he could have a better look at the wizarding camp from within, but once they were clear of the tent, Graves took them back the way they’d arrived. For one blissful moment, however, Credence was as high as the birds. He sucked in the fresh breeze while the worries of the camp stretched out below him in distant abstraction. In the daylight, the blocks almost looked like children’s toys from his great height, with funny little ants marching between them. Credence could hardly imagine that he’d ever been one of those ants, and he had only been gone for one night. How did it feel to be Commander Grindelwald, _born_ here above the clouds?

That was as far as Credence’s thoughts got before a heavy hand settled on his shoulder and the fresh, crisp air was replaced with the stench of manure. Instantly, the musky odor summoned the memory of aching arms and endless hours of shoveling horse dung. It was a startlingly physical memory: one that lived in his arms and lungs, not his head. By the time he exhaled, they’d appeared outside the gate, and the guards on duty were straightening their backs to salute the General. The creak of the gate sounded far away, and Credence was so distracted he almost made Graves zap him again before he stumbled inside.

For some reason, he’d expected that Lt. Gen. Graves would walk him all the way back to his block, retracing their steps. But instead, one of the guards was shouting in his face, and Credence had to squint against the spittle and noise, startled by the harshness of it all. It was a shock to his system, being handled so roughly once more, and for a long, frightening moment, he lost his ability to make sense of the guard’s words. All he heard were unintelligible vowels, all vibrating with threat and growing increasingly agitated at him. He gasped with fear, because he didn’t know what the voice wanted—and then a bright light fired off between them, and Credence was on his back in the cold mud. The sudden flip of up and down was so alarming that the pain registered second.

Whatever the witch was doing to him, it was a reversal of everything Grindelwald had done to him the night before. Every muscle in his body cramped—like the worst muscle spasm he’d ever had, but all over, so that he couldn’t even grab at it. All he could do was thrash in the mud, though he quickly found he had no control, even over his own pained flailing. He was trapped in his body as it reacted to the pain, screaming silently at his lungs to please, please unclench and take a breath. His eyes were bulging wide and he saw the mud rising to meet them, but couldn’t make himself blink. Of all the images to rise up in his mind, he thought of a mad horse the wizards had recently put down; thought of the blank, twisted agony in its single, beady eye, and thought, _I’ll go mad too. Mad like the horse…_

But before the thought had finished, it was over. Credence found himself in the fetal position with his wrists pressed up to his chin, his hands bent down and his fingers curled like an old crone’s. He wasn’t sure if he could remember how to move, until his whole body released with a great shudder, and pain gave way to a deep soreness more profound even than the one he’d felt after his march to the camp.

“Do you hear me now, muggle?” the witch snarled. “ _Which block do you belong to?_ ”

“S- s- C, block C….” Credence’s lungs squeezed with the effort of getting the words out, but he managed to force them through, terrified of being hit with that hex again. Whatever it had been, he had never felt anything like it, and he was completely certain that if he had to endure it one more time, he’d forget who he was.

“Block C…” The witch turned to her companion. “Block C is in the mill today, isn’t that right?”

“I believe so. Unless that’s the girls.”

“No, the girls in C are having their check-ups. Alright—on your feet!”

Credence thought the command was surely impossible—and yet, when he begged his feet to stand under him, they did. His knees shook and knocked together like a baby deer’s, but they held.

“March.”

Credence turned, and marched deeper into the camp at the end of the witch’s wand. Once at the mill, he was put to work pushing some sort of great wooden gear, with cogs so large that a child could fit between each one. They may as well have asked him to slit his own throat, as battered as his body was, but he didn’t dare complain. He couldn’t have, even if he’d wanted to. He wasn’t sure where his voice had gone. He was somewhere so far inside himself that it almost didn’t matter if he dropped dead from the work. He pushed, and pushed, and kept expecting it to happen—but it never did.

By the time he sat down at his cot, he discovered that one of his feet—bare all day—had a livid and swelling sore covering much of the sole. Too tired to care, he hauled both feet, still muddy, up onto the clean sheets and fell into a dead, dreamless sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, it was pitch black—though as he stared, the planks of the bunk above him slowly came into view. Gentle breathing sounds filled the air around him, and Credence came to the surreal conclusion that it was somehow the middle of the night. Had he slept through an entire day and night? Or was he really so startlingly awake after only a few hours of sleep? With a sudden horror, he thought that Graves might have come back and finished the job on his memories—but just as quickly sank with relief, realizing that couldn’t be the case if he knew to fear it.

Closing his eyes, Credence scratched through his mind, checking what was still there. Graves was there… The wizard camp was there… The _Commander_ was still there, turning his back on him; leaving him; kissing him; plunging into him…

Credence writhed onto his side, burying his face in his arms and gripping fistfuls of his own hair. He couldn’t dwell in those memories of comfort; not if he wanted to stay sane. How quickly all that warmth and hope had been banished from his limbs. How quickly his body had succumbed to pain, and cold, and despair.

His body….

Credence uncurled a ways as an idea leapt into his mind. An idea that had just been forming when that witch had cast her hex on him. He’d been thinking of the way the smell of horse dung had made his arms feel tired. The way his muscles had remembered _for_ him.

It was one possible path. One way to dig for the memories that had been taken from him; the ones that explained the gap between Ma’s church and his march to the camp. If he could recreate something that had happened to his _body_ —a smell, or a taste, or a feeling—it might come to him, in that same automatic way it had above the stables.

Credence clung to the notion like a stuffed animal, and tried to go back to sleep. A notion was all he had.

* * *

He awoke disoriented. Movement and voices were all around him. The other boys were waking and rushing to get dressed for the day, but it felt unfamiliar to his sluggish mind. He was coherent enough to pull himself up, knowing he needed to hurry like the rest of them, but unable to shake the feeling that he should be elsewhere. Until he remembered waking in the tent the morning prior, high above the camp, so warm and comfortable that it might have been another world. His stomach sank as he realized he must have been unconsciously hoping to wake there again. Hoping the camp was all a dream, even though that made no sense. The Commander’s tent should have been the dream. 

Credence hoisted himself out of bed, but his feet buckled under him the moment they hit the ground. He let out a cry of surprise which caused a few heads to turn. 

“What’s wrong with you?” someone asked, but Credence didn’t catch who. 

His attention was on his foot and he brushed some of the caked dirt out of yesterday’s wound, hoping against hope that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. He held his breath as he worked. It _throbbed_. 

The foot was still swollen, red now, but at least it was warm, not broken or sprained. He hauled himself off the ground, keeping his weight off it, and reached into his boots for his socks—only to feel his heart sink as his hand closed around emptiness. He looked around the room, trying to spot a pair of double-layered feet, but everything was moving too fast. He understood, he supposed. It was so very cold, and their feet were often numb. Knowing time was limited, he searched desperately for something he could at least use to wrap the bad foot. He needed some barrier between it and the chafe of the shoe. Knowing how freezing it would be outside, and how quickly the temperature would be dropping soon, he worried what would happen if he went too long without socks. But all he had was the blanket. When he glanced around at the other boys, they’d gone back to their morning routine, hurrying this way and that. None of them would have clothing to spare, and if he asked, he would need something to trade for it. This was his own fault for being weak.

With a heavy heart, Credence took hold of one end of the thin blanket and began to tug. Carefully as possible, he tore a strip free and wrapped it around his foot with hurried motions, then pulled the shoe on and laced it up as loosely as was possible. It would have to do. He just hoped it wouldn’t get worse. 

The rest of the morning went by in a haze. Credence remembered the motions, but his mind wasn’t there. His chest felt heavy with the knowledge that he’d been someplace else–someplace where nothing hurt, even if it was in the domain of the most dangerous wizard in all the camp. He only just managed to use the toilets and get his clothes on before he and the other boys were thrown back out into the cold for another day’s work. Distantly, he’d feared taking too long, as he’d gotten used to fearing every day, but that morning the fear didn’t sink quite so deep as it usually did. His mind was wrapped in the protective cloak of distraction.

They were digging out a trench that day. Credence wasn’t sure for what, but it hardly mattered. The guards were back to their usual selves, shouting taunts at the boys and playing some kind of wizard’s chess off on the nearby boulders, having been left to their usual routine by the wizards from the army. Credence couldn’t remember what day it was, but he’d know again once they were sent back to “class”. It made no real difference, he supposed. Trying to get his thoughts back on the usual things wasn’t easy. 

He worked as hard as the other boys with a shovel in hand, but his mind was still lost to the sound of the Commander’s voice and the feeling of the man inside him. It was an unnatural, remembered warmth—the heat of the man’s body, the way his arms wrapped around Credence, the way he was sometimes rough and sometimes gentle. All warmth that didn’t exist for Credence anymore. Nowhere but in his memory. 

Someone bumped into his shoulder and Credence nearly stumbled on his sore foot. He let out a grunt, but ducked his head, not wanting to get pushed by one of the other boys who liked picking on him, but he heard was a quiet, “Sorry.” 

When he looked up, he saw Adam wobbling down the path with a pile of rocks in his arms. 

Credence followed the boy with his gaze—and then noticed he wasn’t the only one. His eyes refocused to the distance, where Ambrose and Snarlack stood shoulder-to-shoulder, monitoring their activities. Snarlack was ranting self-importantly about something between puffs on a self-rolled cigarette, but Ambrose’s attention was fixed squarely on Adam’s progress. Credence saw the wizard flinch as Adam tripped and nearly stumbled face-first into his own armful of rocks. Luckily, Adam caught himself in time, though a few rocks went rolling toward the wizards’ boots. When Snarlack looked like he was about to leap down Adam’s throat for his clumsiness, Ambrose stepped in front of the man and took care of the scolding. He yelled… but never drew his wand.

Credence felt a depth of understanding that had eluded him before. He’d noticed that Ambrose showed Adam some special favoritism, but he’d only had a fuzzy idea of what this implied. Now, he understood it in his bones.

A sharp zap ripped through the soil near his feet, and Credence jumped away with all the instincts of a startled cat, watching a thin line of steam hiss from the indentation.

“Just standing still, muggle?”

The voice behind him had a melodic arrogance to it, and when he turned to look, he saw two witches from the Commander’s army camp sauntering up to their worksite. The witch who had spoken was pale and had her hair slicked back into a tight, pointed pony-tail. She wore a black officer’s uniform that was all sharp lines, much like Lieutenant General Graves’. The witch beside her made all the blood drain out of Credence’s face, and he wished that he could sink right into the mud. It was the herald, from the arrival parade. She had become such a figure of nightmares in Credence’s subconscious, it was surreal to see her walking the grounds. Something about her raised chin and her cold gaze seemed to put her above the baseness of soil. There was a _density_ about her presence that Credence couldn’t quite name. Pins and needles flared up in the brand on his arm as the duo drew nearer.

Ambrose and Snarlack reacted, too.

“Sirs,” they both mumbled, straightening their postures. Snarlack flicked the remains of his cigarette at the mud and stomped it out.

“Honestly,” the pale witch laughed, folding her arms as she took in the boys’ sad, dusty faces. “What _are_ they doing? Lifting rocks? Digging holes? What’s the point? Can’t we do this with magic?”

“Labor is part of their education,” Ambrose said sensibly. He seemed calmer than Snarlack, who was visibly bristling. As Credence looked around, he could see that the pace of digging had slowed, as the boys were now mostly watching while half pretending to work.

“Ohhh, their _education_ ,” the witch responded, clearly dismissive of the notion. “You know, I think I have a better idea.”

She raised her wand—which was a long, crooked thing with a sharp point—and aimed it at the small mound where they were throwing all the rocks that came up in their dig. The boys parted like biblical seas in the path of her wand, and Credence found himself clutching the shaft of his shovel so hard that splinters sunk into his soft skin.

The witch used her whole body when casting the spell, raising her other arm in harmony and bending at the knees as she made the large, swooping motions of a god commanding a wave. A rock rose from the pile—and another right behind it, and another, spiraling out like pearls on a thread. A great stone snake continued to grow until there was nothing left in the pile, and then slithered with rapid speed between the boys’ legs, weaving in and out of muddy shoes so that some tripped and fell on their bottoms in alarm.

When the snake was done teasing, it flew over to a flat patch of earth, where it laid down row after neat row of rocks until its body expired. There were several paces between the lines, like some sort of large ruler. A tense silence followed in which all the boys were stock still in their shoes, waiting for what would happen next. Snarlack and Ambrose were exchanging uncomfortable glances.

The pale witch leaned in and whispered into the dark one’s ear. She must have asked a question, because the herald began to scan the crowd with a considering gaze, shifting from boy to boy with sharp assessment. Credence, who was used to feeling invisible, was staring openly at her when her gaze passed his way—and snagged on him.

The sudden eye-contact made him gasp, and then his mind folded in on itself.

Her eyes were no longer far away, but inches from his face, piercing him with their dark intensity as clouds of glimmering smoke curled at the edges of his vision. In some far-away place, divided from himself, he knew that the witch was still standing far away, her gaze calm and level. But the eyes that filled his vision felt more real, and they _burned_. Burned, like the fireplace crackling beside the bed. Like the sweet heat of skin on his, and a wet, hot tongue, languishing over his most private area. The feel of bristles raking up his stomach. The caress of furs swallowing him up. Mulled wine on his tongue. Smell of pine. The Commander’s face, hovering above his own.

Abruptly, the dark eyes vanished, and Credence felt his mind inflate again with a painful snap. The herald had passed him by and was still raking her eyes across the crowd. Credence blinked, trying to catch up to the seemingly breakneck speed of real time. His mind felt the way his body sometimes felt when getting out of water, as if the air were strangely heavy and all his movements were slow as he resisted it.

Credence followed the herald’s gaze, and saw it land on Adam, who stiffened. Credence wondered if he was enduring the same thing.

A moment later, the herald looked to her companion and lifted one elegant, ring-studded finger to point at Adam.

The pale witch flicked her wand, and Adam flew toward them as easily as the rocks.

Ambrose took a stuttered step forward, then seemed to catch himself. The muscles of his throat were taut, and his usual calm frayed at the edges as he watched the situation unfold. Credence had been around long enough to notice the way the fingers of his wand hand were twitching near his belt.

Adam landed harmlessly near one end of the ruler, though the moment his feet touched the ground, the soil rose up to his thighs and cemented him in a cone of hard clay. His long-lashed eyes were full of fear, and Credence thought again how much he looked like a girl as he twisted in his prison to cast a watery, pleading look at his companions and—for a fleeting, forbidden moment—at Ambrose. Not being too well-versed in German, Adam was even more frightened than another boy might have been in his place, because he couldn’t hear enough context to comprehend his situation. That terrifying feeling of the world’s unpredictability was one Credence empathized with greatly.

As guard and boy alike watched with anxious anticipation, the pale witch walked up the rows of her ruler and cast a series of enchantments on each interval. For a brief moment, each patch of earth lit up with magic before it returned to innocuous, muddy nothingness. The first crackled momentarily with electricity. The second gave a brief, bright gush of flame. The third bubbled. Credence tried to memorize the displays as she walked down the line, enchanting as she went. When she came to the last patch, the herald stepped up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. The pale witch blinked, and stepped back, allowing the herald to cast the final hex.

It was far less flashy than the others. Just a burst of darkness on the soil, and then a brief plume of smoke that Credence thought vaguely resembled a screaming skull—but the wind carried it away before he could be sure.

The pale witch gave her track of magical landmines a wide berth as she clasped her hands behind her back and put on a commanding manner, pacing in clean, measured steps before the boys. There was a strictness to her that could just as easily have cowed a troop of adults as a sorry, motley band of boys.

“Listen up, muggles! You’re going to play a game!”

“Now that’s e-” Snarlack seemed to have found his tenacity and stepped forward to protest, but the witch cut him off as she carried on.

“Everyone line up at the beginning of the track!” she commanded. “Chop, chop! Or I’ll be chopping off feet!”

Credence dropped his shovel quicker than a hot coal and ran for the track. Everyone else rushed, too. Nobody wanted to be last. Boys who were last often got singled out.

Credence’s foot throbbed as he crowded in front of the first line of rocks with the others. He didn’t doubt how this was going to go. They were going to be electrocuted, burned, boiled, and whatever else lay on the tracks ahead.

_One, two, three, four…_

Credence mouthed to himself as he counted the steps. There were nine, including the one the herald had hexed.

Nine… He could endure nine…

He had to.

“This is really quite enough!” Snarlack tried again, placing his hands on his hips in the very image of disgruntlement. “There’s absolutely no point to this. These boys are to be digging a ditch! It needs to be done in three days!”

The pale witch looked Snarlack up and down with such condescending disgust, Credence thought it could have melted the man’s uniform right off his body. He found the dark-skinned witch harder to read, but could have sworn there was a glint of amusement in her eyes.

“Do you _care_ so much for these muggles, _Unteroffizier_?” the pale witch asked. Credence wasn’t sure what an under-officer was, but Snarlack’s face reddened significantly, so that his thin strip of facial hair stood out like a gold ribbon. He looked like he was working so hard on holding something back that he stood the risk of rupturing a vein.

“Of _course_ I don’t care,” he snapped after a moment, his lips glossy with spittle from the force of his objection. “I just don’t see the fucking point. It undermines our authority.”

A deep, chilling sound undulated through the air and made the hairs on the back of Credence’s neck stand on end. It took him a moment to realize it was the herald, _laughing_. She laughed from her throat without even opening her mouth, and a moment later, the pale witch joined her. Snarlack clenched and unclenched his fists by his side, while Ambrose slowly edged up to him and placed a cautioning hand on his shoulder.

The herald turned the wicked blades of her eyes on the boys, and said:

“You make him nervous.”

It was the first time he’d heard her normal speaking voice. It was thick, and softly accented, with a gentle lull. Intelligent. 

All the other boys cowed, but Credence found himself staring in a daze. Her eyes passed over his for the second time that day, and they narrowed for an instant in a private smile, as if they shared some secret. On his forearm, Credence’s mark buzzed under his skin like a live wire.

“Enough,” the pale witch announced, grinning with malevolent cheer. “Let’s play. Here is the only rule: when we say ‘go,’ you step over the next line. _Versteht Ihr das, Jungs?_ ”

A chorus of ‘ja’s sounded anxiously around him, and Credence made himself mumble the word as well.

The pale witch watched them all for a moment, then shrugged and said pleasantly: “Go.”

As one, they all began spilling over the first line of rocks. Predictably, high-pitched yelps pierced the air as each boy got a powerful zap upon entering the new square. Credence was crowded behind some of the bigger boys and had to watch them jump and yowl as they made contact with the electrified soil, before he himself took a deep breath and jumped over the line. The zap fired through him too fast to process, and left him tingling like his whole body had fallen asleep. Even his tongue felt numb in his mouth, and he rolled it awkwardly behind his teeth as he tried to push aside the general feeling of ailment in his body. The hex `knocked him down a peg, but he was relieved that it only fired once. He’d been afraid they’d be made to stand on the hexes like some kind of stamina test, but it seemed they would only need to endure passing jolts.

The pale witch was clapping. Credence had never realized clapping could sound sardonic.

“Very good!” she shouted. “I think you all have the idea. But there is no game without consequences. Am I correct?”

At that, the herald undid a leather strap on her belt, and drew a dagger. It was unlike any dagger Credence had ever seen. It looked _carved_ , not forged. The hilt and blade were all made from the same material: some sort of black, smooth rock, so finely polished that the thin blade almost seemed translucent. Credence could see an oily iridescence in it, like the gate. He knew what that meant by now. It meant magic.

With a deep underarm throw, the herald tossed the blade over their heads. Credence thought it would land and shatter on the ground, but instead, it buoyed in mid-air and flipped on its axis a few times before settling decisively into position. It hovered in the air with the sharp point of its blade aimed firmly at Adam.

Credence was lightly jostled as the boys all bristled and mumbled amongst themselves. Ambrose lost his grip on the diplomacy of silence.

“I would ask that you stop-”

“GO!”

Credence’s head was buzzing. He couldn’t stop staring at the knife. It seemed to be looking into him, the way the herald had looked into him. The screams of his comrades and the bright blaze of flames seemed far away, until some subconscious alarm snapped him back to reality and he jumped over the next line of rocks.

The punishment of fire was such an escalation from electricity, Credence was unprepared. The initial blaze was more startling than anything else, but as soon as its lick faded, the sting it left behind brought him to his knees. He wasn’t alone. Several of the boys were on the ground, shaking, holding their arms out from their bodies. The scratch of clothing against their skin felt like salt on flayed tissue. Numbly, Credence noticed that their clothes and hair seemed unsinged, but their skin was pink and swollen. The sounds of agony all around him began to blur, as if they all emanated from one monstrous, suffering beast. Piercing through it all was a single high pitched tone, growing louder and louder in Credence’s head until it threatened to make his skull explode.

Panting, he turned his eyes from his swollen hands to the hovering knife. He knew the ringing was the knife’s voice. It wasn’t singing out loud; it went right into his mind, like a secret message. The ringing was as sharp as the blade, and just _like_ a blade, it wanted to slice him open.

Credence hadn’t heard the witch say ‘go,’ but his eyes drifted up to see his cohorts clawing at themselves in the square ahead as their faces bubbled. Some of the bubbles stretched so bulbously that they burst, leaving open sores. Credence blinked numbly at the sight.

_I’m in hell,_ he thought.

He bowed his head, and only then realized that he was clutching at his forearm. The rest of him had cooled, but the brand on his arm was still burning.

Gingerly, he lifted his hand—and saw that a hole had been singed in the fabric of his shirt, in the shape of the triangle beneath. Through the open hole, he could see his mark, glowing angrily. It was _pulsing_ to the beat of his heart, his blood beating at it like fists on a closed door. As he watched, tiny red droplets squeezed out of his pores, as if desperate to get out. The ringing consumed the world.

“I see someone didn’t obey,” the pale witch observed, her voice laced with mocking disappointment.

Credence clasped his hand over the mark again and looked up, startled by the sudden silence. The ringing was gone, and he was alone in his square. All the other boys had gone ahead, and were now glaring at him with dark resentment as their skin settled down and stopped puttering.

“I-” Credence tried, but it was too late. With a flick of her hand, the herald commanded the blade to shoot several inches closer to Adam’s face.

Some part of him had already understood that was how the game worked. Still, the cruel unfairness of it wrecked him.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered, but the other boys turned away from him, choosing to focus instead on what came next.

“You’re out of the game, little one,” the pale witch said with a tut. “You just stay where you are and _rest up._ The rest of you: go!”

Credence closed his eyes against the screams, and fought the terrible feeling of relief that threatened to overtake his tired body. The relief that nothing else bad was going to happen to _him_. That Adam’s fate was everyone else’s problem now. That he didn’t have to fight anymore today. That he could sit down. Give up.

He sunk his head against his knees, and faded into defeated darkness. As he went under, part of him wondered whether this was death. But he found he was too tired to care, or resist.

When he came to, the first thing he heard was whimpers. At first he thought it might have been the sound of his own, but as his head lifted dizzily from his lap, sights and sounds reoriented themselves.

Ahead of him stretched the rest of the track—and so did the crumpled forms of the other boys. It seemed that most had fallen or given up shortly after Credence, and were now on the ground nursing both their wounds and their guilt. Some had made it as far as the fifth square, but beyond that stretched empty space. Empty, but for one single boy, standing naked and shivering on the eighth patch. In his disorientation, Credence couldn’t tell who it was. The boy’s body was so covered in scorches, welts, sores, and strange growths that he barely looked human, hunching there with his hands feebly protecting his modesty.

Then he heard the other boys:

“Cress…”

“You can do it, Cress…”

“Cress, come on, we believe in you…”

Their entreaties were quiet; whispered. Credence wanted to cry. Of all the boys he’d come to know at the camp, Cress was possibly the only one meeker and more frightened than himself. How Cress, of all people, had made it nearly to the end of the track when everyone else had failed utterly baffled him.

“I- I- I can’t,” Cress was whimpering, staring into the last patch of hexed earth. “I- I’ll die…”

“You won’t die… It’ll be over fast… Please, you have to…”

Credence’s gaze drifted wearily toward Adam—and saw the blade hovering directly in front of his left eye. Its lightly curved point was so close that Adam brushed it with his lashes when he blinked. The boy didn’t dare to move a single muscle, and was breathing so tensely that Credence could barely see his chest move. Silent, fat teardrops were rolling down his cheeks, making his lashes clump together. Beyond him, Credence could see Snarlack… smoking another cigarette, with his back turned. Ambrose sat glumly on the ground, watching with a heartbroken expression. The wand at his hip was gone.

Credence took up Snarlack’s strategy, and looked away.

He focused on a point far in the distance, where the lifeless soil faded into a blue haze. Their digging site was just on the outside of the walls, and had fallen into shadow as the sun shifted. Credence remembered a time when those walls had felt like the only thing standing between him and freedom, but now, they seemed almost irrelevant. This endless emptiness was what truly separated him from the world. He wondered whether anything lay beyond the fog at all, or if his long march to the camp had actually been his death. Perhaps that was why he couldn’t remember anything just before. Couldn’t remember how he… went. Maybe that was a mercy after all.

And then: a flicker of red.

Credence sat up straight. The sudden injection of hope in his chest was so alien against the despair that had overtaken him, it almost hurt. He peered hard into the distance, holding his breath, waiting to see it again.

There it was. Unmistakable this time. A small group of riders were emerging from the fog and trotting toward the gates. At the head of the company rode a man with pale white hair and a cloak lined with crimson red that winked brightly against the cool backdrop every time it fluttered. It was the Commander. Inimitable. The stern, clean-cut shape of Lieutenant General Graves was visible on the horse beside him.

In the span of a heartbeat, Credence’s world shrank to that red glimmer in the distance. It was the living antithesis of all his pain and despair. It was hope in the shape of a man. The single, bright flame in a moonless, starless night.

He rose to his feet and leapt off the track to chase the red. If he ran fast enough, he could intercept them at the gate. He knew he could. He _knew_ it.

His legs crumpled under him with the first step. It startled him, and he bumped his head into the hardpacked mud as he fell, totally unprepared for his body’s betrayal. He could barely feel it, he realized. But with the blind determination of insanity, he pulled himself back up, and tried again. This time, his legs ran.

It was exaltation itself. Running. Just running. Credence could feel the wind beating against his face, and the squelching suction of the mud. It was all glorious. His gait grew more crooked and limping as he gained distance, and he knew his swollen foot had to be hampering him, but he felt no pain. All he felt was a brilliant lightness so sweet that he would have laughed if he wasn’t already pushing his lungs to the limit to run.

The Commander’s form was growing closer as the trotting of the horses and Credence’s own feeble legs slowly brought them together. He could make out the shape of the man’s brows and mustache now. See him talking to Lt. Gen. Graves. The sight made his heart sob with all the relief of a child running toward the comfort of a parent. Before the Commander, he had never known such a feeling. The feeling of all the world’s warmth, and safety, and love existing in one person. Waiting for him with open, strong arms that would take care of everything. Just like he had before. The Commander would make the pain go away.

“Commander-!” Credence tried to shout, but all that came out was a wheeze. A moment later, he heard a sharp zap behind him. No pain followed, but the reality of his situation slammed into him like an iron grate.

They were firing at him. The memory of the young girl who had tried to run filled his mental vision all at once, and he saw the fine mist of blood she’d become floating in his memory. Was he about to end just like her? Would he have time to notice what was happening? Or would he simply be running one moment, and know nothing the next?

“C-commander…!” he tried again, and this time managed to squeak out half a shout, though his voice cracked feebly. “Commander! Master!”

It was Graves who noticed him first. He was close enough now to see the man’s thick black eyebrows knot into an expression of confusion and concern. He nodded Credence’s way and said something to the Commander, who finally turned his head.

Credence saw the crease of light brows narrowed in his direction. He could have leapt for joy as they fixed on him. He would be safe. It was only a short distance more. He could make it, and he needed to. A flash of light and spray of dirt sprang up beside him again, and Credence’s heart leapt in panic, but the eyes on him did not soften. 

The Commander raised a single hand, gloved, palm out.

Just like that, Credence’s feet planted in the dirt. He wasn’t sure if it was his will or the Commander’s—it was so abrupt—but it may as well have put a physical barrier between them. Credence couldn’t move, and he was too far from the Commander’s party. Too far by a lot. He heard the shrieking voice of the witch close behind him, but he didn’t dare turn around. Terror clawed its way up his throat and strangled his voice. He could feel tears in his eyes. They were going to shoot him down from behind and the Commander had stopped him in his tracks. 

Credence’s hands clasped together, clutching the front of his shirt and twisting it in helpless knots. He wanted to fall down on his knees and beg, cry, plead to be let into the safety of the Commander’s presence, but his knees just shook where he stood and all that came out of him were pitiful sounds vaguely resembling a soft litany of “pleasepleaseplease”. His voice was subdued by the Commander’s raised hand. 

When a thudding beat upon the ground sounded behind him, Credence flinched so hard he nearly fell. But it wasn’t a volley of curses. It was the footfalls of the pale witch. 

Only then did Credence realize the Commander’s hand had stayed her attack as well. 

“Pardon the interruption, sir,” she called, all trace of conceit gone from her voice. “I’ll take him out of your way.” 

“Lost one, did you?” Graves asked. He was nearest to them and Credence could see the curve to his mouth on the unmarred side. He could only imagine what the witch’s face must look like, and how much fury she would want to rain down on him after this.

All Credence had eyes for was the Commander. He tried to force every ounce of hope and desperation he had into his pleading eyes, knowing this man was his only possible salvation even if he had sent Credence away so coldly the day prior, but he found the man staring back at him with only a stony manner of curiosity. 

The Commander’s eyes moved to the scene behind Credence, but he didn’t flinch. His expression didn’t change at all. Even Graves didn’t seem to find anything wrong when his gaze followed, but Credence didn’t dare turn to see how the others fared. 

“Only a little game to pass the time. Stir things up. No harm in that,” the witch interjected, clearly catching the path of their attention. 

Graves raised a brow. He didn’t look like he approved of wasting time. “Wrap it up and get them back to work. They’re not out here to play games.” 

With that, the witch was dismissed, and by extension so was Credence. The Lieutenant General gathered his reins and the party moved on. Credence could see the Commander’s attention already moving to the gate of the camp beyond them while Graves leaned to his side, speaking to the man in a private volume. 

Graves had spoken for the Commander the entire time, but it was the Commander’s will to leave Credence there with the witch. It was his will to leave the rest of the boys in the midst of their “game”, and Credence didn’t know what to do. It was with a heavy heart that he watched them touch their heels to their horses’ flanks and resume their trot toward the gates. The Commander’s cloak lifted in the wind as he did, and for a moment, Credence saw the bold red lining of it open its vibrant maw. It was a flash of life—the only vital color in this dismal, gray place. A reminder of all the warmth and luxury that floated so impossibly far above him.

And then the cloak fell—and caught. It happened so quickly. Credence saw the end of the cloak snag on a brittle, thorny growth that might once have been a living bush. He saw the small tug, and the way the Commander glanced over his shoulder in mild irritation. A casual motion of the man’s fingers sent a quick, neat sear through the fabric, severing a small patch of it as though it had been cut with a hot knife. The sequence was nearly seamless, unfolding as Credence heard the witch approaching behind him with heavy steps. He knew that she would grab him in just another second or two. That it would hurt. That he’d be dragged back to horrors unimaginable. But every ounce of his focus was on the tiny strip of fabric that clung to the bush. He could see a wink of red in it.

Time slowed down. After being overwhelmed by the sensation so many times, Credence was beginning to recognize it. A vibration at the edges of his being, brought on by shock or suffering. Only this time, it had a _focus_. The fabric. The fabric…

Credence let it happen. It felt different, _letting_ it. A white film flickered over his vision, and even the witch’s nails digging into his shoulder seemed far away.

_The fabric. The fabric._

It was the Commander. It was all his feelings about the Commander. It was his hurt and confusion. His helplessness and desperation. It was all glaring back at him in that small red eye…

The witch jerked him around and shoved him forward, causing him to stumble. In that same moment, a fierce gust of wind crashed into them so strongly that the witch nearly tripped and joined him on the ground. Credence made hard contact with the soil, having been too distracted to catch himself, and his ribs groaned as the shock passed through them and the air was expelled from his lungs. He blinked, disoriented, with his cheek pressed to the cool earth, finding his way back to reality after the brutality of physical pain had cut through his trance.

As the world came into focus, he saw a hint of red, only inches from his eyes. The small patch of fabric from the Commander’s cloak was trapped under his arm. The gust of wind had blown it free, and he had somehow fallen right onto it.

With his heart in his throat, Credence shifted his arm to surreptitiously curl his fingers around the cloth. He tried to disguise it as an effort to stand, though an instant after he had his prize in hand, the witch grabbed the back of his shirt and forcefully lifted him to his feet.

“ _Get_ up. _Move,_ ” the witch growled, and it was several shaking steps later that Credence realized she hadn’t seen. He squeezed his fingers tight, protecting his treasure.

Up ahead, the boys were still seated where they had fallen, but the rocks that had marked their torturous game board had scattered. Adam was kneeling, shivering from shock, no longer trapped. The black knife was conspicuously missing.

Credence resisted the tremor in his legs as he was led to them. His body tried to disobey the weight of the witch’s hand, not wanting to go back to the treacherous patch of earth they stood upon. The boys’ eyes upon him made his feet that much heavier. There were questions in their gazes, beneath the dead and dissociated expressions they wore for the witches and wizards. 

One strong shove launched him back into their midst, and he nearly fell again. The world spun as he rejoined them, sinking solidly back into his place in the camp. 

He’d tried to run, but not away. He’d tried to run to the very man who held them there under wizard rule, and Credence knew that wouldn’t make sense to the others. It shouldn’t even make sense to him, except that that man had given him the only comfort he’d ever received in this place. The only comfort he’d received outside of it, too, if he thought back far enough.

He feared he could see a light of suspicion in their eyes now as they made room for him. He couldn’t tell whether it was real or imagined. 

The witch stalked off, the heels of her shoes striking the earth in sharp staccato until she rejoined the other woman. The hiss of her voice wasn’t audible to the boys, huddled where they’d fallen, but there was an air of pent up frustration about her. The dark witch’s eyes drew to the gate where the Commander’s entourage had disappeared and her face did not change. Her stony expression was almost as bad as the radius of ire emanating from the other one. 

Finally, the boys began to look around amongst each other, taking the opportunity to shift as the witches spoke, desperate for a moment of reprieve. Two boys near the end of the course crawled to where Cress had fallen. He seemed to be okay, if still in great pain. 

It was over, Credence thought. However the witches envisioned the game ending, the encounter with the Commander had ended it for them. He slumped to the ground as prickles of something akin to relief spread through him. 

The witches seemed to be gathering themselves to leave, and off to the side Ambrose had gotten back to his feet and Snarlack looked ready for the whole ordeal to be over. Their heads were still lowered a fraction, but their eyes were on the witches. 

Sensing this, some of the boys began climbing to their feet. It was a shaky and hesitant process getting some of them up again, but others offered hands to help them up. Credence stayed on the sideline, hugging himself and clutching his treasure under his arm. His eyes were on the witches. He wouldn’t feel entirely certain the ordeal was over until they left.

As the witches passed behind Adam, the herald turned her head and looked right at him. For the first time, he saw her expression change. A smile twisted her stalwart mouth. The rest happened in a flash. A sweep of the arm, the glint of an obsidian blade, and then an unholy screech that electrified the air.

Adam was on the ground. His shaking fingers clutched at his eye with blood, so much blood, seeping through them. A long arc of red spray stemmed from the spot where he writhed, painting a smile on the cold, hard earth.

The boys froze as one. So did the guards. Credence could see the bloodless disbelief on Ambrose’s face.

The moment broke when the pale witch curled her lip in a mocking sneer, which she directed first toward the stunned boys and then the guards. She lifted her head with a sharp jerk, and just like that, control of the block was handed back over to the guards as the witches swept away, leaving their inferiors to deal with the mess of the maimed boy. 

Adam’s anguished wails followed their heels as they headed for the gates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling lost and defeated after this chapter? Don't worry. Gellert will feature prominently in the next chapter. Cling to hope.


	5. Chapter 5

Credence woke with the sound of Adam’s scream still ringing in his ears.

No. Not Adam’s scream. The morning whistle.

He had woken this way almost every morning since it happened. His joints cracked in protest as he leapt to his feet, swaying with exhaustion. That, too, was a new status quo. When the boys had finally gotten back to their block that night, his dorm-mates had teamed up to rip his bedroll to shreds. Credence had scooped up as much dry straw as possible to make a nest under the window, where he was farthest away from them all. It was better than sleeping on the metal grate that remained of his bunk.

They blamed him. And wherever he turned, he heard the whisperings of a new phrase. _Wizard lover._

Credence thought he should blame himself too. But he couldn’t muster it. He accepted his helplessness too completely. If the witches and wizards wanted to beat them, humiliate them, or stab out their eyes, then they were going to. He understood, as the children who had come from loving families did not, that cowering could only stave off the inevitable. It wasn’t really power. Just a desperate prayer that groveling might satiate the beast.

As to the other charge: how could he deny it? He had run toward the devil himself. As far as they were all concerned, Credence had sold his soul. And rather than wallow in that fact, Credence had accepted it. He _was_ damned. He would sell his soul all over again if it meant another night in the Commander’s tent.

Out of new-formed habit, he felt under the band of his underclothes to make sure the strip of fabric was still there. The red eye. The Commander’s cloak.

He let out a breath of relief when he felt his fingertips touch the bundle. He’d wrapped it in a patch of his torn sheets to keep it from the grime and stink of his own body. It was a sacred talisman to him; one that had to be cared for and preserved. He drew his hand out quickly to avoid suspicion that he might be doing anything more than scratching, and reached for his shoes, tugging one on with blind efficiency.

His toes squelched into something cold and wet. He froze for a moment, looking about the room, and noticed many of the boys casting him furtive, resentful glances. With a gulp, he drew his foot out, and the foulness assaulted his nose at once. It had gotten between his toes. Under his nails. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, and clamped down on the old sensation of wanting to cry. He knew he wouldn’t, though. He’d grown too tired to cry long ago.

When he looked back up, his eyes fixed on a single figure across the room, standing still amid the hustle and bustle of morning ablutions. A figure with one, dark eye, staring at him with quiet hatred. The other was covered by a patch.

Credence moved his mouth wordlessly, searching for a way to apologize, to plead, to tell Adam he hadn’t meant it to turn out this way. But the other boy turned away with one last glare of disgust, and the moment passed.

Credence cleaned up as best he could, which wasn’t much, and lined up for another day of labor and “education.” He wondered whether the foot trapped in his soiled shoe would get infected. Perhaps a guard might use magic to clean it for him, if he asked. Wouldn’t that be something? The wizard lover, asking guards for special favors. Credence honestly was not sure what constituted better or worse at this point. He wasn’t sure whether he hated the new treatment more than he felt guilty, or the other way around, and he began to wonder why he didn’t simply run and let the guards finish him from behind. It was no longer a frightening thought. It was nearly a comforting one, knowing it could all be over if he wanted it to be—really wanted it to be. That invisible exit made it bearable to keep going, and to pursue his last remaining quest.

He wanted to take his memories back. Whether they were painful or happy, they were the only thing remaining to him that he could strive toward The Commander had spurned him and clearly wanted nothing to do with him anymore. His peers hated him. Ma was dead. His very body was turning into a prison of pain, full of sores and aches that plagued him at all hours. His mind was the only thing he could hope to regain control over.

It was the last place he could run.

_Or_ , Credence thought, with visions of blood and mist in his mind, _it was the next to last place._

He was last in line for their daily labors—the other boys made sure of it. He tried not to care. At least he wouldn’t be pushed from behind. And he was less noticeable in the back. He only had to worry about not falling behind, or the guards would send vicious little bolts of magic at his heels. 

Credence listened to their brief exchanges between work—unloading bales of hay from a cart so large it could have crushed him like an insect beneath its wheels—but remained quiet himself. Before, he’d been able to let his mind drift when the guards were preoccupied. Now, he had to stay alert no matter how much he wanted to drift away. He’d let himself do it a few times, eyes turned toward the sky, but that had ended when one of the boys shoved a foot in his path and sent him tumbling into a hard fall.

They’d laughed, then. There was no humor in it. No joy. Only cruelty and petty vengeance. He’d taken it as best he could—had gotten back on his feet before the guards saw that he was down, and moved on just to get out of reach. 

Credence dreaded something like that happening again. But by the time they were in their lessons, his mind was already back in the clouds. Fluttering tassels on ornate tents filled his inner world, and he imagined what it might have been like if he could have stayed in those rooms that were somehow bigger on the inside. The fantasy was a hopeless reprieve from the torment of his peers, and he knew it. 

Credence ate dinner at the end of the bench—the spot that had become his and his alone the past several days—and tried not to look at Cress farther down the table. Cress, who still had blackened skin on one side of his face and uneven lumps on his arms, but who’d survived to earn the favor of Block C. Cress, whose sacrifice Credence had undone in the end. 

He supposed he should be grateful they were both still alive, Cress and Adam. He could only imagine how much worse it would have been, had they died because of him. 

Since that day, he had not seen those witches, and was glad of it, though his usual tormentors had not improved. Ambrose’s disposition toward him had changed considerably. Smaller portions of soup filled his bowl when Ambrose was serving, and the wizard looked on with cold eyes when the other boys shoved him to the end of the line or taunted him. 

The other wizards treated him with indifference, just as they always did, unless a reprimand was due for stepping out of line. Credence was no better off looking to them for help. The moment it crossed his mind, no matter how much his new nickname was whispered between the other boys, he knew it was unthinkable. 

There was no reprieve for him but the little swath of red hidden away in his clothing. In the showers that evening, he parted with it with trembling hands, bundling his clothing together as tight as possible, and laying it on the floor with the others’. He scrubbed as fast as he could, terrified of it being taken from him, left there for some other boy to grab and keep for himself. Or worse: a guard might catch his line of sight and grow curious. They might rifle through the pile of rags and discover his secret. So Credence forced himself not to look. He forced himself to dunk his head under the frigid water and scrub his body raw as fast as he could bear it. He forced himself not to feel until he could rush back to his clothes and dress again, relief sinking into him as he secured the little bundle of fabric back into his waistband. 

A fresh spread of straw upon the dorm floor greeted him when they turned in for the night, and Credence covetously collected as much as he could for his bedding. The thought that this was as good as it was going to get—that he was clean and he had fresh straw beneath him—was a new stitch of pain in his chest. He was still frozen from the water and from the cold that permeated the camp. The ground was still as unforgiving as rock, and the straw offered little warmth or padding. 

He curled into the fetal position out of a primal instinct to protect the warmth in his core, and tucked his pink-tipped fingers into his armpits. As the heat generated from the day’s labors began to drain out of him, a violent shiver set in and made his teeth click together. One of his canines twisted in its socket under the abuse, and Credence winced. Gingerly, he brought his tongue up to bother the bloody gums. He’d been so preoccupied with other sensations, he hadn’t even noticed that the tooth had started to loosen. He’d always hidden loose teeth from Ma because she insisted on tugging them out before he was ready. His wizarding captors probably had a similar policy.

Suddenly, the world went dark, and Credence found himself breathing in a musty smell. Confused, he sat up—and a blanket slumped into his lap. Someone had thrown one over his head.

Blinking, he looked up and saw the boy with the lisp. He was glaring at Credence, his resentment undisguised, but… he’d given Credence a blanket. Behind him, the other boys glanced over with a skepticism that ultimately resolved itself into apathy.

“Thank you,” Credence whispered, and felt a gut-sinking guilt that he had never bothered to learn the boy’s name.

The boy merely glared at him a moment longer, then walked away. 

Credence scrambled gratefully to cocoon himself in the blanket, and after a few minutes’ time, his shivering died away. Perhaps the other boys hated him—but he was still one of them. Still a muggle, trying to survive wizarding rule. It was an unexpected comfort that while they insisted on punishing him, they weren’t quite willing to let him freeze and die.

As the sounds of bedtime bustle died down, Credence felt himself calming for the first time since he’d left the Commander’s tent. Perhaps there was a finality to his fate now that was easier to accept, without the nagging phantom of hope. Or perhaps he had finally been wiped clean of the stamina to care. That thought should have alarmed him, but the sweet relief of finally resting under a blanket soothed him into complacency.

With silence and darkness cloaking his movements, Credence finally felt safe to reach into his waistband and retrieve his one precious possession. He ducked his head under the blanket and brought the little parcel up to his face, only then daring to part the petals of the ripped sheet to reveal the soft cloth beneath. The scent of it wasn’t particularly notable, yet with the cloth nearly pressed to his nose, Credence was instantly transported back to the Commander’s tent. He hadn’t remembered noticing any distinct smell at the time, but now it all came back to him. The cozy scent of burning wood; of the rich, red fabric of the tent; of leather; of aftershave. The darkness of the dorms faded away, and Credence let himself exist in that memory completely, wandering through it and taking paths he had not in reality.

Commander Grindelwald was there. Credence could not look at him directly, but saw the man always out of the corner of his eye and felt the watchful presence of him. The way it had felt when those eyes were sweeping over him—lustfully, he now realized—was seared into his subconscious with a brightness of detail that awed him. His very skin remembered the sensation, and could recall it now, just as his mind could recall images.

_’What’s in here?’_ mind-Credence asked, wandering toward a fold in the fabric that was only a shadow in his memory. It seemed to lift a little as he approached, hinting at an infinite blackness beyond.

_’Oh… You don’t want to go in there,’ _the mind-Commander said behind him, though his voice held a teasing challenge that contradicted his words.__

Credence pressed the soft tuft of fabric closer to his nose, trying to hold onto the smell. To the feeling of the Commander’s presence. Distantly, he let his eyes drift open a sliver, and noticed that his little cave beneath the blanket was _glowing._ Glowing from his arm.

_’Ignore that,’_ the false Commander said, and Credence closed his eyes again.

He was standing directly in front of the red folds of fabric now, though he hadn’t taken a step. It was as if the fabric had come to him—and grown. It stretched upward almost infinitely, to a ceiling shrouded in darkness. A faint ringing sound was coming from the other side, like the kind that had nearly split his head when he was near the knife—only this one did not bother him. In fact, he felt a creeping sense of rightness… and familiarity. He almost wanted to laugh. It was as though he’d been scared of something in his room, only to find by the light of day that it was merely his laundry bunched in a suspicious shape.

The Commander was directly behind him. Credence could feel it. The hairs on his neck stood on end, even in reality.

_’Here,’_ the man said. _’This will help.’_

And with that, his palms landed hard on Credence’s shoulder blades, and shoved him through the fabric.

* * *

“This will help.”

The Commander was offering him a cup. It was carved of a deep maroon wood, and the liquid inside smelled of cloves and honey. Credence was shivering under a blanket, and his hair was still damp, as if he’d just come in from the rain. 

When he took the cup between his numb hands, the heat made pins and needles prickle under his skin. He kept it aloft for several moments, as if he’d only been asked to hold it. A sensuous laugh caressed Credence’s ears, and hands much larger than his own guided the cup to his lips and titled it back. A touch of the liquid spilled down his chin before he remembered to drink. The heat of it hit him first, pooling in his stomach like something molten, followed swiftly by a rich, aromatic taste that Credence couldn’t place but immediately wanted more of.

“That’s better.”

The voice at his side was as warm as the drink—and familiar. Credence started, and snapped his head to look at the man. Mismatched eyes greeted his gaze, and Credence felt his stomach flip with disorientation. The Commander. How could he forget? The carnal encounter, the red tent…? But no—this was before all that. He hadn’t known who this was, the first time around. The first time around his mind had been awash with the events of the night. Of _the attack._ The fright of the children and the fire and the wails from all around as the adults were dragged into the street, and killed…. The sacking of his village permeated the background of his mind, but at its forefront there was only one thing he remembered with clarity, and Credence could still barely believe it.

Calloused fingers lifted his chin, and those eyes of day and night drew him out of his shell.

“You must feel very frightened,” the Commander whispered as his fingers smoothed over Credence’s cheek. It was a statement, but Credence could feel that it was also a prompt, and it would be well not to ignore it. 

“You killed Ma.” His eyes dropped to the steaming cup. 

“I know.” The fingers curled round the back of his neck in a gentle, stabilizing weight. “You must be very upset-”

Credence shook his head and the Commander stopped. 

They’d killed Ma, and Credence was half stunned with the shock of it. That she could possibly be dead. Gone. That he was… free. 

“What’s this…?” A note of curiosity entered the Commander’s voice and he drew Credence back to look at him. He looked into Credence’s eyes, and Credence thought he could feel that gaze caress his thoughts, the way he might run his finger over lines of scripture as he read. The Commander smiled and the atmosphere in the room shifted. “She wasn’t very good to you, was she?”

Credence swallowed tightly, peering back with a deep insecurity that any answer he might give would be the wrong one. But at last, he shook his head—a tiny motion in the man’s grip.

“No,” he whispered.

“Mmmh…” The fingers on Credence’s chin traveled up the line of his jaw, thumb and index finger tracing up their respective sides until the Commander’s grip was almost a chokehold. Credence would have been more frightened—but he knew the Commander had never hurt him. He tilted his head into the grip, trusting and slack-eyed, and that seemed to please the man so much that he bared his teeth in a predatory smile before his lips came crashing onto Credence’s own.

It was a hungry kiss, full and wet over his mouth. A kiss that changed the rotation of his world. _Life_ poured into him from that kiss. The drink in his hands was forgotten, tilting and spilling over his fingers.

When the Commander drew back, Credence was almost floating off his seat. He was lighter than he’d ever been. Dizzy, confused… relieved. He couldn’t remember closing his eyes, but he found he had to open them again, and a giddy sound jolted from his belly as he did. Almost like a hiccup, but different. A sort of bubble of joy that just had to burst out of him.

The Commander echoed the sound with a touch of amusement, and only then did Credence identify it as a laugh.

“What have I found here…” the Commander tsked. “What have I found…”

His fingers caressed Credence’s jaw, working their way back around to his neck and raking, squeezing at the flesh there. Credence’s lips fell open and he slackened so completely that the Commander rushed to pluck the cup out of his lap and set it aside.

“Sweet thing.”

A hand splayed on his chest and pushed him back into a soft tangle of blankets. Credence went with a sigh, falling longer than it made sense to. 

Floating…. 

Until something bumped into him from behind, and knocked the breath from his lungs. It was one of the other children. Someone had fallen, and it caused some jostling in their tightly packed cage. Credence found himself pressed tighter against the crisscrossed wire, which stung his fingers with cold. The rain was coming down with a vengeance, dampening the many fires. Flashes of light shone in his eyes, emanating from the ends of the sticks the brutal strangers carried. Some of those sticks pointed in warning toward him and the other children. There was terror on the faces around him, all of them young, and half of them with blood glistening on their faces. It was so thick that even the rain didn’t wash it away, but Credence knew most of it wasn’t theirs. 

Heavy boots treading through the mud outside their enclosure drew the children’s attention. Credence crouched down, but the wire of the cage in between his fingers was the only thing grounding him, and he didn’t want to let go and back away. He saw the faces of the men as they approached, lit by a backdrop of smoke and fire—what remained of the village. 

The rain didn’t touch these men. It was such a small thing to notice, amid the chaos and the fear and the bodies of the other children caging him in, but Credence saw no sign of moisture upon their strangely clad captors. As he stared, one of the men stepped forward into the low-burning torchlight, and an awe-struck stillness fell over the cage. The man was tall and imposing, with ethereally light hair, and a commanding gaze that raked over their faces with intention. Credence startled at the sight of those eyes: one dark, and one cut like a slice of summer sky. The man paced slowly from one end of the enclosure to the other, while his companions looked on behind him, shining their impossible lights wherever the blond man’s eyes wandered… until he stopped. In front of Credence. 

When Credence glanced up, a small smile touched the man’s mouth.

“That one.”

Blankets rose up to engulf him, and suddenly all was darkness. Disoriented, he found that he was dry again; warm again. Strong arms were wrapped around him and his cheek was pressed against a beating heart. He was laying on something soft, cuddled up to a stranger. He couldn’t move an inch, wrapped up secure in a way he’d never been, and though his heart was racing, Credence found he didn’t mind. The arms felt nice. As nice as he’d ever imagined someone’s arms around him might feel, and maybe more. There were fingers in his hair, and the man had just kissed him—Credence _remembered_. 

The flash of captivity—of the cage in the rain—had disoriented him. Pieces were out of order. But he was dry now when he hadn’t been before, and this man had taken him away from the cold and the cruelty of other strangers like him. 

Warm fingers lifted his chin again. A thumb rubbed against his skin. It was warm and a little rough and it brought him back to the present. A simple touch to ground him and draw his eyes up to the man—the Commander, not a stranger. Not anymore. 

Credence felt his gut drop at the intensity in the Commander’s eyes. The thumb ran over his bottom lip and he wondered if he would be kissed again. They were so close, laying on some kind of bed with blankets all around them, and Credence had the disorienting sensation that it was at once familiar and unfamiliar; remembered and not-yet-remembered. 

“You’d never been kissed before, had you?” 

The Commander’s silken voice warmed Credence from the inside out. He didn’t understand how he could respond like that to a voice. It was mesmerizing, but as soon as he put the meaning together, he found himself blushing. Dutifully, Credence shook his head. Ma had never kissed him, and no one had ever kissed him like the Commander had. 

“But you think about these things… don’t you?” 

That wandering thumb pulled his lip down and grazed at the wet skin just inside before gliding out again. A _tease_. A curl of warmth in his belly.

He tried to shake his head again, but the Commander’s grip turned solid against his jaw and he found himself staring into the man’s eyes, wondering if this was what it felt like to be hypnotized. 

“Tell me the truth, Credence.” 

At that, his gut dropped out in a far less pleasant way, and Credence found himself nodding instead. His cheeks burned. But the Commander’s mouth curled with satisfaction, and his little lie was unimportant. 

“Isn’t that better?” Pale eyelashes dipped as the Commander bent toward him. Warm air brushed against Credence’s cheek and he found himself tilting back, opening up for whatever came. “To let the truth out?” The Commander’s mouth met his again, and the room spun. The Commander pressed him down and Credence found himself on his back, the man moving over him, and he stopped thinking about the village and the cage and the rain and all the others. 

Credence stopped thinking entirely.

Until he was suffocating. The blackness had consumed him again and he couldn’t discern for how long. He tried to suck air into his lungs but his jaw ached and all he felt was the blunt pressure against the back of his throat.

It relented all at once, and Credence gasped noisily—then coughed, almost choking on his own saliva. It was thicker than normal, and had a sharp salt taste. He blinked, his vision returning blearily. He could feel his eyelashes clinging together with moisture. There was a hand on the back of his head, steadying him. Stroking its thumb over the roots of his hair reassuringly. Before him was glossy, rouged flesh, and as his eyes adjusted, he followed the long line of the Commander’s shaft down to a tuft of coarse, blond hair.

“You’re doing very well, Credence.”

Credence pushed a little more of the salty saliva from his lips, and smiled. He knew he was. He felt the tingling pride of the Commander’s compliments all over. He was finally good at something. Wanted. Saved. Even now, he couldn’t believe his incredible luck. The kind hand of fate that had brought them together. It seemed a fitting justice, that Ma had decried the evils of magic all her miserable days, and now it was magic that had killed her—and saved him. The ruddy, silken flesh prodded at his lips once more, and Credence opened his mouth wide, eager for praise.

He sucked, and licked, and slurped until his lips were swollen and tingling. The shock of salt and musk faded into something almost sweet on his palette, and he found himself drinking quite contently of the fluids that oozed from the man’s organ. The Commander made no secret of his enjoyment, and Credence basked in the man’s free spirited vocalizations. Even though they weren’t speaking, it felt as if they were sharing something beautiful; truly understanding one another.

He drew back with a soft pop to clear his throat. His chin was dripping wet with saliva and… the other thing… but he no longer felt insecure about being messy. He chanced a look up at the Commander, who _smiled_ at him, and he laughed. As freely as if that was something he had always known how to do.

“Would you like to know what it feels like?” The Commander’s voice was playful and husky, and his thumb stroked over Credence’s swollen, wet lips. That made Credence shudder and sigh with amazement. It was almost too good to be true, that someone would really do that for him. Too much of an honor.

“Y-yes…” Perhaps it was a test. Perhaps he was supposed to say no. But as soon as his consent was uttered, Credence found himself flipped onto his back and felt his hips unceremoniously dragged up toward the Commander’s waiting mouth. The man’s tongue went _everywhere_ down there, lapping at the sensitive nooks of his thighs and the small, hard bulb of his sac, before enveloping his little hardness in a wet heat that felt like love itself. Credence moaned out the word again, this time with passion: “ _Yes!_ ”

And then… something blunt pressed just beneath Credence’s sac, before sliding down and putting an incredible pressure against- oh.

Credence’s eyes flew open, his heart in his throat. The Commander was arched over him, looking more flushed and sweaty than he had before. More hungry. Even a little frightening.

The memory had shot ahead again. But this time, Credence was aware enough to know what was happening. Was he starting to wake up? He could remember the camp; could remember what the Commander did to him in that red tent. He knew what was about to be done to him. And yet, he couldn’t alter the memory. He felt himself laying slack and defenseless, his anxieties mollified by pleasure. He heard himself whisper:

“What’re you gonna do now…?”

He squirmed inside himself. Wanted to tell his memory to tense up; to be prepared. But his legs hung trustingly splayed on either side of the man’s hips, and his body would not so much as flinch while the bulbous pressure rubbed at his most private hole. This version of him could not even imagine something going inside that place. Didn’t have the experience to think that the Commander might try to fit that thing inside his body; didn’t think it was possible.

The Commander bared his teeth, with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Just breathe, boy… Just let it happen…”

Credence was still trying to tell his legs to close, his hips to squirm away—anything at all—when the Commander took advantage of his body’s naivety and plundered him, deep. Again… but not again. The first time, just as it had been. Credence didn’t even cry out. He gasped deep with shock, but the shock felt far away. He knew how it would go. He felt like he’d been speared through; stabbed. The Commander’s cock was splitting him in half. But soon it would move, and rock, and press him down into the blankets, and once the burning grew numb, it would start to feel good…

Credence found himself fast-forwarding to that part of it. Had he leapt ahead in the memory, simply by thinking of it? He was gaining more and more control. He had a grasp on his faculties. The memory was no longer a mystery, unfolding moment by moment. He felt it was already _in_ him, complete and unlocked. Now, he was only reliving it.

He had loved this part. The part where the Commander had laid down on top of him and simply ground his hips down with absent abandon. Credence’s face was crushed against the Commander’s chest, and he had to turn it to the side to breathe. His whole body was pressed flat by the man’s weight, and he could hear the man groaning into his pillow somewhere above. Credence found himself staring at the muscles of a forearm, which locked him in and bore the Commander’s weight, the muscles flexing as he moved. It was such a strangely comforting place to be. Locked completely against this sweet adult who had _chosen_ him, saved him. Not an inch to wiggle or move. Just the deep, constant pressure of the grown man’s organ filling up his body and grinding insistently against the deepest point of resistance inside him, before withdrawing for one breathless moment and pushing forth again.

At one point, in its eagerness, the organ slipped free, and Credence heard himself moan with dismay. It prodded hungrily till it found its home and sank past the resistance of Credence’s opening with a soft pop—so much easier this time. It felt good, for reasons Credence couldn’t explain. It was almost the thought of it, as much as the sensation. He moaned, and the Commander paused, sliding his hand down to Credence’s face as if to read his expression by touch. Credence captured the man’s thumb in his mouth when it slid close, sucking on it for comfort. He would never have acted that way normally, but he was so heady, his whole body buzzing.

He moaned around that thumb as the Commander slipped completely free of him again, only to sink back in. Credence felt his own sex spasm with pleasure. The Commander seemed to read him like instinct, because he repeated the motion, again and again, carefully sliding in and out of Credence’s tight outer ring. At first it was the feeling of being _taken_ that drove Credence’s arousal—the way his body pushed back for just a brief moment, before the Commander popped through—but the more the man repeated the movement, the more easily the flesh slipped in. Toward the end, it was entering him like nothing, easy and slippery. That was the feeling that drove Credence over the edge. Feeling so _opened._ The Commander was _making_ Credence open to him, body and soul.

Credence tried to arch his back, but there wasn’t enough room, so he came shuddering and trapped beneath the man’s weight while the blunt pressure of the man’s cock continued driving into him.

The next shift in memory was gentle.

Credence knew how to surrender himself to the invisible currents by now. He emerged from a sweet, blank darkness into a state of bodily comfort so complete, he felt he was floating two inches above his skin. He’d been scoured from the inside out, perfectly clean and empty. The Commander’s hulking figure was reclining beside him, propped up on pillows with the blankets pooled at his hips, just barely disguising the intimidating organ that had been inside Credence earlier in the night. Credence himself was curled against the Commander’s side, peering up with wonder at the thickness of his arms and the wide expanse of his chest. 

Sadly, the Commander wasn’t paying him any mind; his attention was fixed on a short stack of parchments in his hands. A cigarette protruded from the side of his lips, occasionally wobbling up or down as the man took a drag and puffed the smoke out through his nose. It made the air acrid and Credence felt his eyes water, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind anything at all.

“…What’s that?” Credence finally worked up the courage to ask.

“Hmph? Oh…” The Commander reached up and snatched the cigarette from his lips, tossing the parchments down on his lap where Credence could also see them. Cramped, elegant handwriting filled the top page, along with a crudely drawn map. “These are reports from the other holdfasts. And the reeducation facilities.”

Credence nodded, as if he understood what that meant, and pretended to examine the papers diligently while the Commander took a last, long drag of his fag and put it out. When he spoke again, his voice bore a tinge of amusement.

“Fancy yourself a field commander, do you?”

Credence knew the question was a trap, and dodged it with another question.

“What’s all this for?” He tilted his head back, and his heart leapt as he felt one of those great, thick arms lift and wrap around him, tugging him into an intimate embrace. He felt so truly welcomed, and settled in at once. “I mean, why did you kill Ma…? And the Church? Is it because we were saying bad things about you? I never meant-”

“Shush, boy. Of course you never meant it. You were fed vile lies. But that is why we’re here. That’s what all this is for. To bring truth. To restore the natural order.”

Credence still did not understand, but the man spoke with such charisma and conviction that Credence found himself hanging on every word. When the Commander’s eyes turned on his, they were filled with a frightening blaze—but whatever they saw in Credence’s gaze made them soften.

“We’re returning magic to the world, sweet boy,” the Commander explained more gently. And then, quite out of the blue, he tossed the stack of parchments into the air—where they came to life, folding themselves into the shape of birds with a flash of golden light and flapping out of the tent in a rushed procession. Credence was gasping and clinging to the Commander’s waist, where he could feel the deep vibration of the man’s chuckle.

“How did you do that?” Credence breathed.

“I told you…” An infinitely gentle hand stroked back his hair. “Magic.”

Credence tilted his head back and peered up with naivety and wonder.

“…E-earlier… Was that magic, too…?”

The Commander hissed a breath in through his teeth, and Credence wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong, but no reprimands were forthcoming. If anything, the Commander’s touch grew more pleasant, with his fingertips curling in against Credence’s scalp and raking over it in a way that made chills travel down his back.

“There may have been a little…”

Credence felt warm all over, suddenly more aware of their nakedness.

“…Can you teach me?” Credence was so afraid to ask the question that he wasn’t sure he’d managed to speak loud enough to be heard. A weighty stillness followed, in which the Commander kept stroking his scalp, and he was just about to ask again when the answer came—so soft that Credence had to strain to hear.

“Some people are not meant to carry magic, Credence. But they can still… serve it.”

“Oh…”

Credence tucked his head against the Commander’s side and considered the answer. He understood the implication. Of _course_ he could not carry any magic himself. It had been foolish of him to suppose such a thing, even for a moment. He was just a wisp of a boy; a boy who couldn’t even behave half the time. But if he could _serve…_.

With a surge of determination, Credence twisted in the Commander’s embrace and threw one naked leg over the man’s lap, straddling him and placing two tiny hands against the center of his broad chest. One pale eyebrow was raised on the Commander’s face, and it hinted vaguely of warning, but Credence summoned up all his courage to assert himself.

“I could serve you,” he said. The Commander blinked. “I could follow you and serve you and- and what you did earlier, you could do it all the time…”

A fuzziness was building at the edges of things. Details slipping away from him; the fabric of the tent drifting out into the darkness. But the Commander was crystal clear in front of him. _Only a memory, _Credence knew. And then that began to fade as well.__

__“Keep me!” he heard himself say, and launched forward to kiss the Commander’s lips._ _

__The last thing he heard before he opened his eyes was the gasp of the Commander’s voice. The last thing he saw was one bright blue eye and the other, dark in the faded light of the tent, staring down at him with satisfaction… and a tinge of wonder._ _

__And then it was gone. All of it. Credence woke, shivering in the dark with the threadbare blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders and the ground cold and unforgiving beneath him. The scent of sweat and skin and sex was replaced by the must of dirt and straw. The warmth and the safety of what he’d lost jarred him so much he nearly cried out. His palms clamped over his mouth to catch the sound, and only a whimper escaped._ _

__Credence sat up. The blanket fell. The memory danced through his mind’s eye as though it had only been days ago, clear as crystal, and Credence began to feel his world turning upside down._ _

__He’d felt safe—so safe. When the Commander had plucked him out of the cage, the night his town had been razed to the ground, and touched him with affection—with appreciation and _pleasure_ —Credence had felt like he’d been saved. It had all happened so fast. He’d been caught up in the whirlwind of it, desperate for something to hold onto—anything—and he thought he’d found it. _ _

__A trickle of cold slithered down his back._ _

__He’d forgotten. Just like the last time—what he’d thought had been the first time—the Commander had plucked him out of his bed at night, and the other wizard, the Lieutenant General, had tried to take his memory._ _

__Credence shivered, and felt conflicting forces rise within him. On the one hand was the fear that this had happened already, and that he wasn’t supposed to remember either time. On the other hand was the dawning of something he couldn’t explain; something that made his hands tremble. It felt worryingly like _hope_ , because he _had_ remembered. He’d remembered his first night with the Commander, and he knew he wasn’t supposed to, but somehow _he had_. Somehow, their memory spells didn’t work on him. He couldn’t explain it, but it left a cold thrill running through him. _ _

__He searched for his memento, fumbling with the little piece of cloth in the dark and peering down at its crumpled shadow in his hands. Memories of the Commander drifted through his thoughts, but Credence wasn’t sure what to feel now. A stab of hurt surprised him. So did the prickle of tears that came with it. He tried to wipe his eyes quickly, forcing the feeling back down before it could take root, but his tears felt cold upon the back of his hand and Credence couldn’t ignore the fact that he was there, on the ground of Block C, in what could only be described as Hell, and the man who had taken him in his arms and given him comfort had left him there. Had turned him away. Twice._ _

__Credence hung his head. He wished the tears would fall again. There was so much building up inside him that wouldn’t come out, and couldn’t, lest he wake the whole block. The wind howled outside in his stead. He only wished he could slip away and never return to this awful place._ _

__He laid back down, thinking only of the respite of sleep, but kept the cloth clutched close to his chest while the warmth of strong hands and a devious smile danced in his memories._ _

* * *

__The heavy stomp of shoes too near Credence’s ear startled him so sharply that he bolted upright before he knew he was awake._ _

__It was like that every morning now. The other boys did it deliberately, making as though to step on him as they passed. Once they’d really done it—one boot on his shin and the other on his hip—and Credence had screeched so loudly that it had silenced the whole block for one lurching moment._ _

__After that, it hadn’t happened again._ _

__Now, he saw several muddy marks on the blanket he’d been given. In a hurry, he balled it up and stuffed it between two boards in the wall, hoping the others would let him keep it. His treasure, he stuffed back in his clothing, keeping it as safe and secure as he possibly could. How badly he wanted to sew in a secret pocket for it—something where it might never be found if one of the boys went rifling through his clothing during showers. Or if his clothes became mixed up with someone else’s. Credence shied away from the thought. It was a frightening feeling, that stab of fear, now that he had something he desperately wanted to keep._ _

__Wanted to keep… in spite of the memories that had surfaced the night before._ _

__Credence was left dazed on the ground while the others hurried around him. He couldn’t make himself stand until all of it had flooded through his mind again. He tried to lock every detail into his consciousness, fragment by fragment, so that he was sure not to lose them again._ _

__His body moved on autopilot, climbing to his feet on shaky legs, his mind months away from the present, while the other boys ignored him or shoved him aside as they vied for the line to the toilets and the sinks._ _

__It took him the entire morning ritual to come back to the present, and ended with being thrust out of the dorms and into the sharp morning sun. A sun that no longer held any warmth for the camp, but cast them all in a cool, pale light that seemed to suck the color out of everything._ _

__He stood in line, shivering with the rest of the boys, while his mind quietly reeled at the tangible memories of the Commander that night. The clap of Rumples’ voice sounding off roll call did its best to draw Credence out of his head, but not even that did the trick. Not even the march off to work in the gravel pits shook the bone deep certainty that nothing could ever be the same from this moment on._ _

* * *

__Work would normally wring all thoughts and resilience out of him—but it didn’t anymore. The ubiquitous pain in his body had transcended from a series of stings and aches to one numb, throbbing entirety that contained his being. He couldn’t quite remember what it had felt like to be pain free anymore, nor imagine a time when his body had been soft and comfortable to live in. Even Ma’s beatings were punctuated by generous stretches of recovery, and they only hurt in one place. In hindsight, it was the fear and trauma of having her turn on him that really stung. Walking that constant, uncertain line between pacifying or inflaming her. There were no such uncertainties here in the camp. Life was pain. It was strangely freeing, once Credence stopped resisting it._ _

__This new transcendence left him plenty of room to think about his dream. Well—not a dream, exactly. He wasn’t sure what else to call it, but it was more wakeful than dreams had any right to be. And… clearer. As if he had walked back into that time and place, bodily, and noticed details that were surely impossible to remember._ _

__He rode his cart over a bump, distracted, and the whole thing spun out, spilling gravel everywhere. He closed his eyes and waited for the sting. It came. It passed through him. And far away, a guard was yelling as he knelt to scoop the fallen gravel back into the cart by the armful._ _

__Credence had to see the Commander again. He felt a certainty now that had been missing before. There _was_ a connection. Something special between them. Why would the Commander ask for him again, if not? He’d erased Credence’s memories. He could have passed him by. Been done with him. But he hadn’t. When he saw Credence looking during the parade, he’d wanted him badly enough to send for him again. If Credence had disappointed him the first time, that wouldn’t have happened. He _knew_ the Commander enjoyed it. He knew that look in the Commander’s eyes—that look as though Credence were the most special boy in the entire world—had been real, during their first encounter. And… the signals the man had sent with his body, while he was taking Credence… the noises he made…_ _

__“Oh for crying out loud-” Rumples made an annoyed sound and the remainder of the gravel shot back into the cart of its own accord, some of it scratching Credence’s skin as it flew out of his arms. “Like watching paint dry. Just keep working.”_ _

__Credence knew he was flushed, but anyone watching would contribute that to the strain of labor._ _

__He tucked those forbidden thoughts away, and only brought them out again during the nights, to warm himself. Now and then, he’d hear a noise outside, and hope against hope that it was Graves coming for him again—but it never was._ _

__Credence had no real plan until days later, when he was assigned to shovel muck in the stalls. Some part of him was always on alert, looking for opportunity. He found it in the form of leather._ _

__It was the end of his shift, and his arms were almost too numb to hold the shovel as he left the others and trudged toward the tack room to put it away. The tack room itself was a small shack, separate from the stalls, and there were nails hammered into the outside wall where the shovels could be hung. Normally, the door to the shack was closed, but on this particular occasion, it was open just a sliver._ _

__Credence hung the shovel and took a quick sweep before he dared to glimpse inside. The tack room was notably empty of humans, though he was certain that someone would return shortly. He was about to move along when he saw it. Another flash of red. The color of _yes._ The color of safety._ _

__Credence pushed the door open gently, and slipped inside._ _

__The air in the shack was heady with the smells of leather, horse, and polish. All sorts of bridles, stirrups, reins, and saddles lined the walls… and there, at the far end, hung a saddle distinct from all the others. The straps were black, but the seat itself was a dark, rich red, as though the leather had been submerged in blood. The studs that held the various parts together looked like real silver, ornately carved, and so did the buckles. Upon closer inspection, the deep red leather was engraved with mysterious patterns around the rim, which looked to Credence like some secret language. Nothing else in the shack compared to the detail and luxury of this saddle. Credence tried to call it from his memories, but any time he’d encountered the Commander on horseback, he’d been too absorbed in the man himself to make note of the tack. But he didn’t need to remember. This had to be the Commander’s. It practically glowed with his sense of fashion._ _

__Inspiration whispered in Credence’s ear, and he felt a chill. This was certainly what Ma had meant when she talked about the devil leading men into temptation. The Commander had to ride— _sometime_. If Credence could somehow _be there_ when the Commander’s horse was saddled for use, he might have a brief, precious moment to draw the man’s attention. To tell him… that he remembered._ _

__The decision seemed to make itself, and Credence was only there to obey. He crept nervously up to the door, peering out at the short distance between the tack room and the stalls. All he had to do was dart for it--quickly. Credence could visualize the path in his mind's eye. In through the back, crouched down low along the stalls to hide himself from the others, then all the way to the southeast corner, where there was a ladder to the loft._ _

__The path was clear, yet he hovered for many long moments, not really sure what he was waiting for. He should have been thinking, but he wasn't. Until the heartbreaking sight of the Commander riding off into the distance flashed unbidden inside his mind, and his legs came to life, hurtling him out and toward the stalls._ _

__During the heart-stopping distance from the tack room to the stalls, he made himself glance to the side, and saw his unit already lining up for their march back to the dorms. No one saw him, and a second later, he hit the door. He did his best to open it as quickly and silently as possible, but it wasn't easy. He knew he should be out there, lining up with the other boys. They'd notice him missing. Surely. Except, maybe they wouldn't. He was so quiet, and this unit was a mix of different blocks. None of them gave him a second glance unless they wanted someone to pick on._ _

__His heart beat faster as he hurried down the length of the stalls. The only witnesses to his transgression were the horses, newly fed and uninterested in a single boy lingering behind. Through a window, Credence again glimpsed the group he was supposed to be with, led by a witch who wasn't their usual supervisor. Some of the boys were still getting into line. If he ran out now, he wouldn't be punished. He wouldn't be considered missing. He'd only be a little late. But the knot in his throat grew as he thought of the way they treated him, and then thought of the Commander and how much he would do anything, _anything_ to get back to that man. _ _

__With shaking limbs, Credence moved on to the wooden ladder in the back and scaled it quickly, all the way up to the hay loft._ _

__He crouched and scuttled behind a few bales, where he collapsed and exhaled, waiting for his heart to stop pounding in his throat._ _

__What followed was silence. Endless, agonizing silence. At first, Credence was sure the supervising witch would notice she was missing a child and come scouring the premises for him. But eventually, too much time passed for that possibility, and Credence was faced with a whole different set of anxieties. When would they first notice him missing? During dinner? Bedtime count? What would happen when they did? Who would they send?_ _

__Or worse... what would happen if they didn't notice him missing at all? For all he knew, it could be another week before the Commander was ready to ride again. Credence had placed all his bets on one number. There was no crawling back and begging for mercy after this._ _

__He held out as long as he could, but those thoughts whirling around in his mind after ten minutes, thirty minutes, an hour, finally got the best of him. The bales of hay were stacked high over his head, but he found a little space inside them, only big enough for him, where he curled up and began to cry._ _

__He'd thought he was all alone in the camp before, but now he'd cut himself off from all hope. Entirely. Except for the Commander. Except for the very slim chance that the man would come and that Credence could go to him. A foolish hope, given that the man had already denied him once. Stopped him in his tracks, even if he'd inadvertently saved Credence from the witch who had been chasing him. What was Credence thinking? Before that, the Commander had given him up. Sent him back. Twice. He’d entertained hope for a split second. He’d escaped on impulse. He’d wanted so much to be free of this place and its torments, but now Credence felt like he'd fooled himself._ _

__For long hours, every thought that came to him only left him in greater despair._ _

__And then he heard a noise, and all the sadness sucked itself back into the core of his being faster than he would have thought possible, like the sensitive tendrils of some creature recoiling. He was suddenly silent, breathless, and alert. Two men's voices were slowly resolving themselves in the stalls below._ _

__"Around here somewhere," said one._ _

__"Yeah, that's what I'm getting too," the other replied._ _

__From behind his bales, Credence saw bright lights dancing on the ceiling above, and only then did he realize how dark it had gotten._ _

__He lifted himself up and craned his neck to see, but he didn't dare move any closer than that. It was impossible to see over edge of the loft from where he was wedged in, but he could hear the footfalls of their boots upon the stone and straw below, and it wasn't hard to imagine the scene they made--advancing slowly from one end of the stalls to the other, wands raised. Ready to strike._ _

__Credence ducked back down again, hoping against all hope that the crevice would hide him; that somehow, they would pass him by. When the clack of their boots halted, Credence knew they'd reached the end of the building._ _

__"We know you're here," one of them called. There was no sympathy in the tone. Only certainty. And then light shone over the rail of the loft, hitting the ceiling above him._ _

__"Only way left is up," said the other, and Credence heard one of them step onto the ladder._ _

__Credence leaned back against the hay, staring up at the light. Streaks of it were coming up through the floorboards from the wizard who remained on the ground. The ladder was creaking beneath the weight of the other soldier, slowly advancing._ _

__This was it. At no point in his entire experience at the camp had Credence been more certain of his impending death. More afraid of it. His mouth tasted of metal, and his body had turned to lead, heavy and immobile. There really was nowhere else to go. Nothing else to do. The owner of that unfriendly voice would descend upon him within seconds. This had all been a huge mistake. A terrible mistake. His last._ _

__He was so heavy, he felt like he was sinking into the hay. He wasn't really, but there was a strange sensation of sinking anyhow. Like drifting slowly to the bottom of a dark lake, the shadows gulping him deeper and deeper._ _

__One heavy boot landed on the platform, and then the other. Light fell upon the stacks of hay next to him, sweeping across the loft. Sweeping across him._ _

__But it didn't stop. The light moved on until it reached the other side, and then there was silence. The boots strode forward, and Credence closed his eyes tight. He didn't want to see this wizard's face. Didn't want to _be_ seen. Once more, the light came, and with it the wizard, grasping bales of hay and knocking them down. Again, he walked right past Credence. _ _

__"Well?" the man below called._ _

__"He's not up here!" barked the other, too close, far too close, but his voice was laced with irritation._ _

__"What do you mean he's not up there? Where else _could_ he be?" _ _

__"I don't know, but the tracker's wrong. There's nothing up here. Did you fuck up the spell?" He was moving again, heading back for the ladder in angry, punctuated steps._ _

__The men's footsteps retreated, and a familiar creak let Credence know the stall doors had closed, but it still felt like hours before he could let himself exhale. Hours before he could let himself think, fearful that the noise of his own thoughts would summon them again._ _

__When he finally accepted the mystery that the men had truly left—that they truly had not seen him—Credence was swaddled by an exhaustion so deep that he fell asleep right there on the hay._ _

__He awoke to pitch blackness some untold time later, and crawled awkwardly to the other end of the loft space, where he relieved himself off the edge and into one of the stalls below. All the heat he'd left in his little nook had evaporated by the time he crawled back, and he curled up tight, hugging his knees for warmth. He shivered as he drifted back to sleep, missing his single, threadbare blanket._ _

__Cold and fatigue, he learned, would be the least of his worries. As the hustle and bustle of morning activities started up below him, Credence became increasingly aware that he had missed not only breakfast, but dinner the night before. With some careful maneuvering, he was able to stack the hay in such a way that he could lay low and observe the workspace below from an inconspicuous angle. Focus on his mission carried him halfway through the day. But by the time it was well past lunch, his stomach was cramping with disappointment. For all the camp's tortures, it had always promised him a regular meal, and he'd grown more accustomed to that rhythm than he realized._ _

__Thirst was also becoming a problem. There were two wells Credence knew of. One was back inside the camp and the other, though it was just outside the stables, was well within view of the tents and there was no way he could sneak to it without being seen. Someone had been in that morning to check the horses had enough hay and to change their water, and Credence envied them immensely, but watching from above was all he could do. He couldn't eat the hay, and although–to his disgust—he found the water in the troughs temping, he still didn't dare go down to it in broad daylight when anyone might walk in._ _

__So there he remained, curled into a ball in the straw, trying to ignore the aches of his body until night fell again. He found that if he piled up the loose bits of hay and dug himself a hole under it, he could stave off the chill just enough. For a long time, he hoped he'd doze off like that, but despite the endless hours passing with little to do, it was impossible._ _

__He tried to escape the misery by triggering those dreams again--those memory dreams, which had felt as real as life--but no matter how much he pressed the little swatch of fabric to his nose, no dreams came. He even tried to rub between his legs, but he was too tired, and it chafed, and somehow the effort just mocked him with how much sweeter the Commander's touch had been._ _

__At some point, daylight returned, catching him off guard. Credence wondered whether he had slept after all, and just not realized it. The fog in his head and the deep lethargy in his body suggested not._ _

__The only thing that could get him to stir was the sound of human movement downstairs, but it was never someone coming with the Commander's saddle. It was boys, scooping muck, or the keeper, tending a horse. By the time dusk began to settle yet again, Credence had slipped into a place beyond caring that he might die amid the hay. The thought was almost a relief. Peacefully slipping away from the thirst, hunger, and despair, rather than being murdered. He was thinking this as he finally started to drift off, but he was left in a half awake, half asleep state, unable to fall under completely._ _

__It was the thirst that finally set him in motion. As much as his mind wanted to give up, his body wouldn't let him. Laying there in the loft, his throat tortured him until he could think of nothing else._ _

__He crawled to the edge and looked over, scanning the building one last time before dragging himself over to descend the ladder. The pains in his stomach were strong now, but to his surprise, moving helped the hunger. Maybe it just helped take his mind off it. There was nothing for the excruciating thirst though. As soon as he landed, feet on the concrete floor, he started for the water troughs nearby._ _

__He'd been staring at them so long from above, imagining this moment, that he didn’t hesitate to approach the nearest stall door, only pausing to check that the horse inside was calm and not likely to startle if he came in. He hoped not. Some of them stirred, woke from their standing slumber, and put their heads over their doors to see what he was doing. Luckily for him, they didn't seem frightened._ _

__He lifted the latch and the mare inside watched him curiously, flicking her tail to swat an errant fly. She did not bother him as he went to the trough and got up on his tip toes, plunging his hands inside and taking gulp after gulp of the water._ _

__He'd expected it to taste foul, but it was as bland as any water he'd ever had. It was heaven after so long without. The liquid helped fill his stomach somewhat, and by the time he climbed back up to his nesting place, he felt heavy and sated and ready to sleep._ _

__He woke and descended to drink twice more throughout the night, and by the time the morning bustle began, he felt awake and strangely content. He had passed into some point beyond hunger, where his stomach no longer screamed at him. Even the aches and pains in his body had dulled somewhat, and he realized he probably had not rested so long in one stretch since he arrived. No, nor even with Ma at the church._ _

__People came and went from the stalls, and Credence floated above them like a spirit, observing. He had been so on edge about the Commander's horse when his vigil first started, but filled with nothing but water and air, Credence floated outside his concerns._ _

__The stalls grew quiet and dusk neared once more._ _

__The creak of a door opening didn't disturb him, nor did the quick tap of boots below, even though it was late for any chores to be done and the horses had already been tended. The sounds merged into the same he'd heard all day and the day before that... and the day before that. Credence didn't care._ _

__Soft scuffling came next, and the light clank of metal followed by the slap of leather. The horses stirred more than they usually did, anxious or excited about something. A latch unlocked. A door swung open. The sound of hooves followed and then there were more noises. Soft slaps and clangs and the sound of a horse's snort. It went on for minutes. Credence didn't try to decipher any of it. Not until his eyes wandered down to the loft floor, covered in dust and straw and slices of light between the floorboards, where he could see the deep red of a saddle mounted on a white horse below._ _

__It was a vision from a distant life. A dream he'd had once, but half-forgotten. Alarm bells went off in the back of his head, but when he tried to sit up, he was so _heavy_ \--so very heavy..._ _

__The attendant took his time, and yet it happened too fast. The horse was being lead out of the stables and Credence could barely remember how to use his legs. Only the very real panic of losing his one chance got his body back in motion, driving him on some last bit of fuel that his every instinct knew to be preciously finite. He was outside himself as he descended the ladder and rushed past the remaining horses toward the exit._ _

__Even approaching dusk, the daylight outside looked painfully bright, and he knew he'd be running right into clear view--but there was a beautiful freedom in the fact that he wasn't trying to hide anymore. It was all or nothing, now. One precious chance to be seen. One precious chance to be heard. No alternatives. Just a pure, driven, forward path._ _

__Emerging into the gray afternoon had all the finality of hurtling himself off a cliff._ _

__The world tumbled into hard packed dirt. His palms scraped against the ground, but he didn't feel it. He was up and moving again a moment later and everything was a haze of brightness and motion--the massive tents overhead, the stables behind him, the horse and man he was following. But up ahead, someone new was approaching. A figure with a familiar form. A dark shape, lined in red._ _

___The Commander._ Heading for his horse._ _

__Credence didn't stop. He gathered everything his little body had left in it and cried out._ _

__" _I remember!_ "_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience on this chapter. We have an estimated 3 more to go.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left a comment last chapter, and I am so sorry I haven't responded to all of them. I am terrible with these things, no matter how much I appreciate them. Will try to do better this time. - Piper (x57)
> 
> I loved your comments. Thank you. - Herr Grindelwald

" _I remember!_ "

It was such a climax, Credence expected the world to turn on the axis of those words. But the Commander didn't so much as glance up from affixing his riding gloves, still strolling toward his mount with all the manners of a man lost in thought.

Credence had meant to keep sprinting, but his lungs forced him to halt and lean on his knees, gasping in breath for another shout. The air raked his insides like knives and it took several panting moments before he stood straight and prepared to cry out again.

"'Ey! What are _you_ doing here?"

The attendant was fixing Credence with a sharp squint—and finally, _finally_ , the Commander glanced his way. It was the first time Credence had seen the man truly stunned, his composure momentarily broken by disbelief and confusion.

"I... remember..." The shout he'd had in his belly came out as nothing more than a raspy, limp plea, and only then did Credence realize how he must look. Small, ragged, and covered in hay, swaying dangerously on his feet.

The attendant advanced. With the horse safely transferred to the Commander, he must have felt it was his obligation to get rid of the pest. The look on his face spoke of indignation. Triumph, too. Credence straightened, fear coiling in his stomach when it was clear this man knew who he was. The missing boy. 

"Wait." 

One word from the Commander had the wizard stopped in his tracks. Credence, too. His feet were frozen to the spot as the Commander advanced, horse calmly in tow, and handed the reins back to his attendant, who took them with a bowed head and a straight back. Cowed. 

The Commander came to Credence in slow strides, his gaze as discerning as ever, and Credence wanted to wilt under the shame of it, looking like he did. Half-starved and filthy, he couldn't imagine this man taking a second look at him, and he'd foolishly hoped for just that. To Credence's great surprise, however, the man crouched down before him, putting them on a level, and stared into Credence's face, pinning him more thoroughly than if he had reached out and gripped him. 

"What did you say?" 

The fear inside Credence would have sworn it was an accusation, but there was something like astonishment in the Commander's eyes. 

Credence breathed open-mouthed for several moments, staring back into the Commander's eyes, feeling the great pressure of both his fear and fondness for the man pressing him into the earth. Grounding him again.

"I remember when you took me the first time, back in the- when you burned the church, and you took me," Credence explained quietly, the words tumbling out. "You- you did things to me, and then after, you said some people don't have magic, but they can serve it." He sucked in a deep breath. "And then next time- in my block- you had him come and get me, and then you gave me a drink and you did th- the thing to me again, and you let me sleep in your bed, and-"

Mismatched eyes widened, and the Commander stared into Credence for a long moment, a moment in which Credence was sure he was being investigated on a level he couldn't feel or understand. The Commander softly exhaled, no less stunned, but there was a touch of amusement to it now. A touch of a smile at his mouth and curiosity in his eyes. 

"Well now. You're quite something, aren't you?" 

It was a rhetorical question, but Credence had to stop himself from answering—stop himself from bumbling out apologetic explanations that he didn't know how it had happened. The touch of fondness that came with the surprise in the Commander's voice was just enough of a balm on his nerves to help him keep control.

The Commander turned his attention to the attendant, and then stood again. "Put the horse away. A change of plans are in order." And then he held a hand out to Credence, gloved in soft leather, beckoning to be taken. "Come with me." 

Yes. _Yes! ___

__Credence's very soul cried the word as he let his tiny, feeble hand slip into the Commander's, feeling the world right as he did so. He'd _done_ it. The Commander was going to take him back again. Up to the tent, where it was warm and safe and- and where he could receive the fond attention from an adult that he so desperately craved. He had craved it so badly, he'd been willing to starve for it. Die in the attempt to attain it._ _

__The tension of his long wait drained from him in such a sudden wash of relief that Credence's knees buckled under him after just a few steps. He didn't even have a chance to apologize before he was in the Commander's arms, lifted off the dizzying ground—and then the world blinked._ _

__The next thing Credence knew, they were in the air. He was so tired, and so wholly preoccupied with the solid comfort of the Commander's arms, that he forgot to be afraid when the wind whipped at his hair and he caught sight of the camp a plummeting distance below. Regardless, there was no need to be afraid. As his eyes trailed lower, Credence saw that the Commander's feet were on a solid rug platform. The other tents splayed out below them like the branches of a tree, and Credence could see there were people about, confidently heading this way or that, all seemingly unconcerned with the lack of railings. On the level directly below them, there was even a group of wizards sitting down for tea._ _

__The sights left Credence breathless._ _

__He almost made a sound of protest when the Commander stepped away from the edge, but clamped down on it when he turned his head to see the familiar red folds of the Commander's tent; the bright ornament atop the tree. He had to close his eyes as they entered, a strange instinct in him expecting some sort of membrane at the threshold. Like passing through a waterfall into another world._ _

__The smokey spice of the place engulfed him, and Credence went limp with bliss in the Commander's arms. But a moment later, his nose calibrated, and he realized he could smell himself for the first time in a good, long while._ _

__"Nnh, yes," the Commander remarked. "You smell like horse shit, my boy."_ _

__With that, he carried Credence off to the right, behind a fold of fabric and into a new area of the tent._ _

__Credence's cheeks turned red—he could feel the burn—and his stomach flipped as he feared he was offending the man. But Credence wasn't dropped, and try as he might to discern true anger in the Commander's tone, he couldn't._ _

__A new aroma touched his senses as the floor beneath them changed from polished wood to marble tile. The Commander's boots clacked satisfyingly against it with every step. A great tub sat at the center of the space, porcelain and gleaming in the light of the sun, which, when Credence glanced up, he could see was let in by an open sunroof in the thick fabric of the tent. In spite of the aperture, the cold didn't touch them._ _

__It was near this tub that Credence was returned to the ground. The Commander crouched before him again, pulling the leather gloves from his hands and tossing them upon a nearby table before his fingers went to work at the fastenings of Credence's uniform._ _

__Credence caught on at once, and was so eager to be out of his dirty clothes that he interrupted the Commander's careful work on his buttons by tugging his shirt over his head, getting tangled in his rush. The Commander chuckled and helped to tug him free. Bits of hay dislodged from Credence's hair in the process, dancing to the ground. They both looked down at the mess, and then at each other—and Credence giggled._ _

__The Commander's mouth pursed with amusement._ _

__"And these," he said, giving Credence's trousers a little tug—but Credence was already on it, eagerly pushing them down, underwear and all. He preened at the way the Commander's eyes went straight to his private areas, and the obvious temptation to touch. This was more like it. This felt right. The Commander wanting him again._ _

__"Into the tub," the man growled softly._ _

__Credence's toes curled. The Commander stood and went to the tap, turning it on and plugging the drain inside so that steaming water began to fill the tub while Credence attempted to climb over the side._ _

__The vessel wasn't made for a child. He'd barely gotten one leg over, clinging to the edge while his toes dangled over the side, when a hand on his arm lifted him up and helped him in. The moment warm water touched his toes, Credence was in heaven. He sat down immediately, letting it gush over his legs, splashing it up against his chest, feeling it permeate his skin in a way warmth hadn't in so long. Not since the last time he'd been there in that tent._ _

__The Commander made a soft sound of amusement, but Credence found he wasn't embarrassed this time at being caught in the distraction of such a simple pleasure. He was _grateful_ , and told the Commander so with a smile that split his face from ear to ear. He couldn't remember smiling like that before, ever. _ _

__Whether the Commander could tell how earnest it was, or whether he cared, Credence didn't know, but he sat down at the side of the tub, reached over the edge with a sponge in hand, and began to scrub Credence's back._ _

__That made Credence go still, sitting pliant and compliant as the Commander made soothing circles against his skin, causing a rich lather to rise. He sat there and smiled as the water rose around him. Smiled, with his eyes on the Commander, filling slowly with tears._ _

__There was a brief splash as Credence's arms flew out of the water—and then he was clutching onto the Commander's arm, soaking the man's sleeve as he buried his face against it. The Commander froze under the grip; waiting, assessing. Finally, the sponge dropped with a plop onto the rising water, and a second hand settled on Credence's head, stroking back his hair. A gentle kiss followed._ _

__It _hurt_ to be this happy. After everything. Just the way the hot water hurt as it brought life back into his cold limbs, searing and tingling. It was blissful, but overwhelming. The abrupt jolt of luxury that an encounter with the Commander brought on was a powerful thing, and usually more than enough to sweep Credence away. He had felt himself free-falling into that happiness. But there was also uncertainty. And more fear, this time, because he knew in his heart that being expelled from this warmth and caring again would break him._ _

__"It's alright," the Commander said softly. Gently, he removed Credence's hands from his arm. He encouraged Credence to look up at him as he took handfuls of the water and drew it through Credence's hair, massaging as he went._ _

__"Relax, and I'll clean you up. Then you can have something to eat." The Commander's finger brushed Credence's lip. "Wouldn't that be nice, hm?"_ _

__Through blurry eyes, Credence nodded. His heart was pounding and his chest felt like it was expanding beyond its capacity from the sheer amount of emotion inside him, and he didn't know what to do with any of it. He wanted to hold onto the Commander again, but instead the man was helping him lay back, dipping his head under the surface of the water and rinsing his hair. When the Commander's arms reached over him again, this time with a bar of soap for his body, Credence couldn't help it. He reached up and gripped the Commander's arm, holding on just to hold on. If he didn't restrict the man's movements too much, he thought, maybe this would be allowed._ _

__The Commander's breath clenched for a moment and then released in obvious, self-imposed patience. He worked around the looping grip, his movements growing a little more efficient as the worst of the filth came out of Credence's dips and crevices before emptying the water and setting it to fill anew. This time, when he leaned over for the soap, Credence darted out of the water like a leaping fish and placed a kiss on the Commander's face—the first place his lips could collide, which happened to be the man's chin._ _

__There was a moment, then, when the Commander bowed his head and peered down in what Credence interpreted as annoyance, and he slid deep down into the low waters, afraid to sit up again even as the water rose toward his nose. After a tense moment, he heard the Commander let out a hefty sigh above him._ _

__"I didn't bring you here for that... Credence. If matters are as I think they are... then a grave mistake has been made."_ _

__Credence didn't move, but his stomach dropped out. The Commander settled down again, leaning over the tub ever so slightly to cup Credence's cheek. The touch was at odds with what Credence feared he would say._ _

__"I had thought perhaps I, or Graves, had simply forgotten to obliviate you, but now I see that is not the case."_ _

__The Commander stroked gently down Credence's back, but this time the touch wasn't soothing away the dread he felt at the man's words. For some moments, the Commander waited, and Credence waited along with him before sensing that it was a prompt for him to speak up—for him to ask what the Commander meant, or try to explain it himself. But the dread in his chest was too strong. If he'd done something wrong in remembering...._ _

__With a small sigh, the Commander went on. "There are times—uncommon, but there are times—when a magical child has no magic that manifests itself outwardly. Except for very rare occasions."_ _

__"O-oh...?" Credence asked it before he even pieced together that the Commander could possibly be talking about him. That delayed epiphany followed a moment later, and bent his reality like a reflection in a spoon. He suddenly felt he was floating out of the tub, as the fundamental categories of life scrambled in his head. Up and down, man and boy, wizard and... muggle._ _

__"It's especially possible with children raised among muggles," the Commander went on, "when the child receives no proper nurturing for their gift, and the caretakers don't know what to look for. Tell me, Credence... Do _unusual_ things happen around you?"_ _

__The Commander switched off the water, and in the potent silence that followed, Credence felt the weight of the man's stare, and all the expectations behind it. He could _see_ the faint, agitated hopefulness behind the man's usually composed features. The way he waited on edge for Credence's answer._ _

__"I... I..."_ _

__Credence was starting to feel heady in the warm water, his empty stomach sending a wave of nauseous disorientation over him. He was the most ordinary creature that had ever crawled the earth. Pathetic, low. The furthest from extraordinary. The furthest from those god-like wizards, floating in their tents._ _

__...But he _had_ experienced strange things, hadn't he?_ _

__He couldn't say that any of them were _because_ of him, but... the way that he could see the glowing mark on his arm, and all the children's arms, when no one else could. The way the guard who had searched for him, who had come within _inches_ of him, had somehow passed him by. The way Lieutenant General Graves' spell had backfired. _ _

__"I didn't think any of that was because of me," Credence admitted quietly. Out of the depths of dread, hope clawed its way up his chest, but he feared to let it out._ _

__But the Commander's face split into a smile. The sight of it—fearless and exultant—lifted Credence's spirits along with it. His admission had been enough for the Commander, and the man's fingers curled in his hair._ _

__"My dear boy, I believe you are a wizard."_ _

__Credence's little heart hammered fiercely in his chest. He felt like a mouse who had just come upon a block of cheese big enough to make a home in. The immensity of his joy was too big to wrap his mind around._ _

__"Does that mean- does that mean I could live up here?" Credence asked, leaning halfway out of the tub in his eagerness, reaching up to hook his arms around the Commander's neck and finding the man receptive this time. "Here in the tents, can I...?"_ _

__The Commander chuckled, allowing himself to be trapped by wet arms and leaning in close. "This is a military encampment, my boy. Hardly a place for a child." There was some sort of sick, wry humor in the way he said it, but Credence ignored that._ _

__" _With you_ ," Credence corrected, breath caught in his throat. "Can I li-... Stay?... With you..."_ _

__The Commander's face was falling again, and Credence's heart with it._ _

__"Sweet boy," the Commander said softly, and finally—finally—leaned in to place a kiss on Credence's lips. It was gentle. Chaste. Compassionate. That frustrated Credence so much, he surged forward and pushed his tongue between the Commander's lips, hoping for- for _anything_. For that sweet, surging _taking_ that had always been there before. The certainty of being _wanted_ , embedded in hot, claiming touches._ _

__For several, infuriating seconds, the Commander's lips were lifeless beneath his own. He could taste the blandness of the man's saliva. Feel the scratchiness of his mustache. Inhale the strong, salt smell of him. But he got nothing in return for his passions, and he felt tears burning angrily on his cheeks, cutting hot streaks through the moisture from the bath._ _

__He made to draw away when the Commander's hands snatched his wrists in a steely grip. The man's hands were so large, they covered his wrists and most of his palms, so that only a small bouquet of fingertips poked out the top. He caught a brief flash of intensity in the pale eye—one that seemed almost angry, and made Credence's heart jump. Then the Commander's mouth was on his, _in_ his, filling his mouth up with the heat of his tongue and kissing him with such demand that he couldn't gasp for breath. When the Commander parted from him in a rush, Credence sank deep into the hot water with a wave of dizziness, his hands limp in the Commander's grip._ _

__The Commander lowered those hands back into the water tenderly, holding them under the heat and stroking the life back into them. Credence realized the Commander had gripped him so tight that there were pins and needles in his hands. It was oddly pleasurable; especially having the life massaged back into them afterwards._ _

__"Will you bathe now? And eat. You must eat."_ _

__"Ok." Everything was a whirlwind, but the water was more pleasant than Credence could have imagined anything being a day ago, and the Commander's hands didn't draw away._ _

__He was relieved the Commander wasn't angry with him. He may have overstepped, but the Commander wasn't stone after all. His hands helped Credence lean back, and they massaged his tired body. He watched as one finger lifted out of the water, tapped the surface, and caused a ripple in the suds that smoothed out into a clear, perfect pool._ _

__Magic. It was everywhere. All around them in the shimmer of the curtains, the air, and the foundation of the very room they sat in, above the clouds. But Credence hadn't seen any wizard use it so innately as the Commander did. The guards used their wands, always. Every spell was deliberate. With the Commander, it was like breathing—unconscious and all the more magnificent for it._ _

__The soap had done wonders for Credence's state. The soak, too. Leaning back against the side of the tub and letting the Commander do what he liked, Credence had never felt more clean in his life._ _

__By the time the Commander's hands left the water, Credence was nearly liquid himself. He floated, his sore limbs tingling sweetly where the Commander had rubbed them. His eyes sagged shut as the Commander walked away, and though he tried to focus on the sweetness of the moment, he knew what would happen next. The water would be drained, and the air would feel horribly cold on his wet skin. There would be shivering, and pruney toes, and waking up from his comforting fog._ _

__The Commander cleared his throat, and Credence opened his eyes again._ _

__The man was standing by the side of the bath, holding open a thick, luxurious robe that was probably three times Credence's size. He caught sight of the initials _G.G._ embroidered on the pocket._ _

__The thought of being wrapped tight in that robe was enough of a motivator for Credence to brave the brief discomfort of the open air. Climbing out of the tub, however, proved more difficult than he'd anticipated. His limbs had turned to jelly and his exhaustion had caught up with him. He was slippery and as clumsy as a newborn deer, and ended up tripping out of the bath and into the robe, face first._ _

__The Commander caught him. Strong arms, plush with the robe, wrapped around him and lifted him up and away until he was flush against the Commander's chest. Credence went limp, gratefully, and the Commander hoisted him up a little further, giving a light grunt of amused annoyance._ _

__"Alright there... Let's start with a little broth, hm?"_ _

__"Mmmhm," Credence hummed back. He pressed his face into the fabric as deep as he could, hardly believing how soft it was. He felt like he could sink into it forever, but the Commander's arms were strong and he was secure. Credence never wanted to move again. He never wanted to go back to the world as he'd known it. Never wanted to leave this warmth and comfort._ _

__But the Commander was right; Credence hadn't eaten in days. His stomach was painfully hollow, and it only let him forget it in stretches at a time, when he was either too exhausted to care or too excited to feel it. The latter had taken over for a while, but now that the offer was presented, the pain of hunger made itself known again. As much as Credence wished he could have fallen asleep in the Commander's arms, the notion of soup drew him back to alertness._ _

__He could only see the ceiling as he was carried back into the main room of the tent. It was beginning to feel familiar. The pleasant scent of smoke that lingered in the air brought him back to the memories he'd held onto so preciously. He'd clung to the details in the fabric of the walls, the carvings in the furniture, and the beams that held the whole thing up. He could hardly believe he was back._ _

__"Look at you," the Commander murmured, and it was only then Credence noticed the Commander was watching him take it all in again._ _

__Credence peered back for a moment... and then let his head rest heavily against the Commander's chest, holding the man in a loose, assessing gaze._ _

__"You've looked at me lots of times," Credence pointed out, surprised by the weak rawness of his own voice. "For the first time, lots of times."_ _

__The Commander appeared genuinely caught off guard by the near-reproach, cocking his head at Credence before lowering him onto the couch. It felt more like the whole tent tilted to set him down, and Credence found himself battling a wave of nausea._ _

__"It may be difficult to understand-" the Commander began, but Credence interrupted him._ _

__"Bread."_ _

__"What?"_ _

__"I want bread... with my broth." Credence folded deep inside the robe until he was only a small head poking out. His newfound surge of boldness wilted a little under the Commander's stare. "...Please," he added._ _

__"...Good," the Commander concluded, after several, scrutinizing moments. "A wizard should demand what he wants from the world."_ _

__And then with a swish, the Commander's wand emerged. Credence was captivated by the way the man held it, with his index finger pressed to the shaft for balance. It was curiously delicate. Not at all the grip he was used to seeing, where wizards would clutch their wands like the handles of whips. But perhaps that all had to do with the sort of magic they were performing. Credence knew the Commander did not plan to hurt him now. For the first time, he found himself staring at a wand with more curiosity than dread._ _

__The Commander tapped the coffee table, and spoke a foreign phrase. Shapes rose up from beneath the runner, and when the Commander whipped aside the fabric, there was a full dinner placement waiting for them: bowls, cup, spoon, saucer..._ _

__All empty._ _

__Credence squinted in confusion, but the Commander stirred the ladle in the larger bowl, scraping it against the empty edges with an awful sound. He lifted it up, careful as though it were brimming with hot soup, and brought it to Credence's bowl, where he tilted it in._ _

__Steaming soup came pouring from the empty ladle, filling the air with a savory aroma that went straight to Credence's salivary glands._ _

__He found himself smiling in awe before he realized he was doing it. This was what he'd imagined magic to be before he met actual wizards—an elegant, mysterious thing. Down in the camp it was all about blunt power, and the contrast was still surprising him._ _

__The Commander added another ladle to the bowl, then set it down and reached as if to grab the contents from a large, empty place. He lifted what looked like nothing into the air, but when he gripped it with both hands and pulled it apart, the scent of fresh bread blossomed in the room, and steam rose from two halves of a loaf that had magically appeared in his hands. He set them down, and then Credence—robe and all—was lifted into the Commander's lap as he settled back on the couch._ _

__The Commander proceeded to feed him. It was a special delight, even when the Commander held the spoon at a distance, refusing to lower it until it was cool enough to slip into Credence's mouth. He leaned forward in his seat, mouth watering in anticipation of every bite. The broth was heaven. It was life flowing into Credence's little body, hot and thick and full of flavor, hitting his stomach like needles after the first swallow, but so good that he didn't care. He could feel it and he was alive. The breadth of the Commander's warm body was behind him, solid and secure, as Credence swallowed one spoonful after another in silence. The more he ate, the more he began to feel awake again._ _

__It was as though the food was coloring in his lines. Giving him density again.. He'd almost been a ghost._ _

__A sad shudder passed through him as he remembered just how close he'd gotten to ending it all._ _

__"I have so much to show you..." the Commander murmured behind him, and Credence was surprised by the emotion in the man's voice. It sounded faintly distant, as though the Commander were really speaking to himself as much as Credence. "You know nothing... Nothing about your history, nothing about our world... Our beautiful world... You can learn it as it was meant to be learnt; not cowering in some cramped desk while bleeding-heart traditionalists infect you with self-hating nonsense..."_ _

__Credence grew a little tense as the irritation rose in the Commander's tone, but he knew it wasn't really directed at him. Still, his shoulders crept up to his ears, and he kept himself small as the Commander leaned over to set the mostly empty soup bowl on the table, before settling back and guiding Credence to twist in his lap and face him. He stroked Credence's face then, gazing at it with a smile that should have warmed Credence's belly every bit as much as the soup, except that he had the strange feeling the Commander was smiling at something in his own thoughts rather than at him._ _

__"We're miles away from the nearest wandmaker... But we should be able to find a docile one that will serve you for now. Though I suspect you'll be chosen by a more tenacious one... Like you. Gryphon feather core, perhaps... These days, no one likes to make wands from them, because they're too stubborn. Resistant. But if you can push through, they can facilitate great bursts of power...."_ _

__The Commander's strokes were passing down his cheeks and over his neck now, raising gooseflesh over Credence's torso._ _

__He was talking about wands. For Credence? It was almost unthinkable, imagining himself holding one. They were the instruments he feared, even when glimpsed in their holsters or under a sleeve. Doubly so in a wizard's hand. Only the Commander's had given him kindnesses. The rest spoke of death and pain._ _

__Fingers lifted his chin and Credence flushed, barely able to believe what he was hearing. Uncertainty bubbled up inside him, and he wanted to let it all out—to explain how the mere idea of holding a wand was so far beyond him as to be utterly incomprehensible, even if he'd made inexplicable things happen- But then the Commander's mouth closed over his own, and his words were silenced._ _

__This was what Credence had wanted, and instantly the notion of wands was forgotten. There was a tongue licking at his lip until he opened his mouth and then the Commander was there, opening him wider, hungry for more. This was everything Credence had hoped for—this feeling, for the Commander to _want_ him—and he rose up out of the folds of the robe to greet it with fervor. He wrapped his arms, dry now, around the Commander's neck and felt him hum in approval. _ _

__"How soft you are. Such contrast, it's delightful."_ _

__Credence shivered at the words against his ear. His own damp hair tickled his skin where the Commander nuzzled. The world tilted and excitement bloomed in him as he was settled to lie with the Commander on the couch. Credence was beginning to feel alive again.._ _

__The Commander trapped him against the plush backrest, and he found there was nowhere he could squirm without coming into closer contact. It was just like their first night together, when he had been so entirely caged beneath the Commander's body. His heart raced with something delicious at the intersection of tingling fear and pure want._ _

__He wanted to say something nice about the Commander, too, but he wasn't clever enough to come up with something in the middle of such a heated moment. Instead, he tried to make an appreciative noise as the Commander pressed him back against the cushions with a roll of his hips. There were kisses still landing on his lips and face; hands pinching at his flesh and pushing the robe away. And then a hungry sweep of open, firm palms, drinking up the entire reachable length of him._ _

__"Like silk... at this age... warm silk," the Commander murmured, and Credence gasped as the man's tongue dragged up his cheek._ _

__Those hips rolled against him again, and now there was an unmistakable bulk beneath the trousers. The memory of what that... _thing_... could do to him rose fresh in Credence's mind, and he choked on his own breath with the mingled fear and heat of it. His head was spinning with the reckless desire to run _toward_ that sweet, overwhelming brutality. Toward the viciousness and joy of the sensations rushing through his body, and letting his soul drink up the Commander's attentions._ _

__His tiny hands grappled for the Commander's belt, blindly attempting to undo the buckle._ _

__"Ah, ah, ah," the Commander tutted and laughed, catching Credence's hands in just one of his own and pulling them away. His smile widened as he pushed them up, placing them next to Credence's head on the couch. He ran a finger down Credence's cheek, seeming to luxuriate in his confusion. "We'll get to that later. I want to touch you first."_ _

__Credence didn't know what that entailed, but he knew what would happen if only the Commander would undress, and Credence wanted that. Wanted it very much._ _

__"Such a _pout_." The Commander pressed a thumb to Credence's lower lip, but there was no malice in the tease, only delight. There was a merriness in the Commander's tone Credence hadn't seen before. And there was hunger in his eyes, which Credence shared. Slowly this time, the Commander pressed Credence down, making him feel the weight of his body from head to toe, nearly smothered by it—though Credence didn't mind. He reveled in it._ _

__"Lie back and let me take care of you." When the Commander whispered into his ear, Credence began to understand it was security he was feeling._ _

__He closed his eyes to make himself sink fully into it. Floating helplessly in the dark while the Commander's wet kisses touched his throat. His chest. His tummy. The feeling of lips and tongue on these parts of his body felt a little funny, almost ticklish, and he smiled, on the verge of a giggle._ _

__The smile died away as the Commander's mouth moved tantalizingly close to the private place between his legs. And suddenly, all he could think about was how desperately he wanted the man's mouth to go there. His legs fell apart a little, back arching hopefully toward contact. He stretched his arms further above his head, relishing in the sensation of making himself so _open_ for someone. It was a paradigm shift. To belong so willingly to the adult who had power over him._ _

__"Exactly," the Commander whispered, as if in response to Credence's thoughts. And then his tongue dragged up the length of Credence's penis, and all his thoughts devolved into sensation. He had known that to happen with pain so very often, but to disappear in such a way into pure pleasure... The Commander may as well have been God, for being able to give that to him. Wasn't that what people always prayed for?_ _

__"You can call me God if you like," the Commander hummed, amused, as he gave the firm little mound of Credence's sac a quick suck. "Though my name is Gellert. And you can call me that too."_ _

__"Gellert," Credence sighed out, his chest bursting with love as he absorbed the full magnitude of that gift. And as the Commander—as _Gellert_ —swallowed him whole._ _

__Pleasure swirled and crested through Credence from somewhere at the core of him. Between his legs or deep in his chest, he couldn't tell. It all got muddled up. To have the Commander's name, and the Commander's mouth. At the same time. The word swam in his head as he succumbed to the haze of pleasure, and he began repeating it in his mind. Over and over. _Gellert, Gellert, Gellert._ He wondered if —the man really could could hear his chant. If the Commander could be likened to God, it didn't seem implausible. And Credence had seen stranger things by far from wizards._ _

__One of the Commander's hands wrapped around his thigh, strong fingers digging in deep and kneading the flesh as the man's tongue and mouth worked him, sucking in rhythmic motions. Credence whimpered. A beat later and the Commander's grasp loosened, seemingly catching himself and adjusting. It had hurt, but not badly. Credence hadn't minded, exactly. He had the Commander's touch, and any touch from him felt a thousand times better than the pain of the camp, especially a touch born of desire. Credence hadn't expected the Commander to notice that he was hurting Credence incidentally, or do anything about it, but he did._ _

__The hand slid under his buttocks instead, and so did its brother, cupping him completely. The Commander squeezed at the plush flesh while he sucked, and Credence continued to lay with his eyes closed, passively absorbing every sensation. Passively, until he became conscious that the kneading had taken on a kind of insistent motion, pressing Credence rhythmically toward the Commander's face. Encouraging him to move, Credence realized._ _

__An embarrassed flush washed over him as he faced the notion of moving against the Commander with that kind of want. It felt like _greed_. Most especially because it was the Commander's face; the most perfect and beautiful part of him. And the most terrifying. Could Credence really-_ _

___Take what you want._ _ _

__He wasn't sure if he'd imagined the voice, or if it was really in his head. It had the same deep, dream-like reverberation of the voices in his visions. Real or not, it gave him a surge of bravery, and he bucked his hips upward, immediately rewarded by the deep vibration of the man's moan around his private parts. Gellert seemed to like it. So Credence reached down and knotted his little fingers in the man's hair—holding on with clenched, feeble fists—and began to roll his hips with all the flame of his need, so that his small hardness slipped in and out of the warm suction of Gellert's mouth._ _

__Credence was active in this now. A participant—and it felt different, not to be passive, not to let the current of pleasure take him under and move him where it willed, but to _direct_ it instead. At the Commander's encouragement, Credence moved with it, and the tension deep in his stomach liked this change. He was chasing the pleasure now—riding the Commander's mouth. _ _

__When Credence looked down, past the heaving swell of his chest and belly, he was met with the Commander's eyes. In spite of everything—the man's face pressed between his legs, his nose smashed against Credence's pelvic bone, and the sounds of wet sucking emanating from the mouth Credence could only feel below—the Commander was staring at him. Drinking him in. Credence recognized the look. Want burned in one dark eye and the other saw right through him, or so it felt. He was enthralled every time the Commander looked at him like that, and, buoyed by the feeling, he began to let noises escape his mouth. Little whimpers at first, in time with every press of the Commander's hands and every sweet suck of his mouth... and then deeper, more insistent, voicing his intent to urge the Commander—Gellert—on._ _

__He felt he was rising out of himself, losing the weight of invisible shackles and growing lighter. Bolder. Shedding layers of shame, depression, and insecurity, until he sensed something ahead that was almost like joy. He wanted to _share_ that with Gellert. Wanted to show him he was capable of it. But as it loomed in the distance, something far more powerful rose up and collided with him. One moment, the suction simply felt good—and the next, it escalated out of control, and Credence heard his own confident moans twist into a yowl as his whole lower body spasmed with the force of his climax. For several moments, he was so tense with it that the muscles of his stomach hurt—and then he dissolved back into the couch, dizzy and utterly ruined. His body had driven him to his finish so violently that it was almost a disappointment, but some of that faded as Gellert left a trail of wet, ticklish kisses up his torso._ _

__He relaxed into that reassuring touch, and actually giggled a little self-consciously as Gellert lifted his weight on his elbows to tower over Credence, trapping him with a fond look._ _

__"Um..."_ _

__Credence looked down between them, seeing the material of Gellert's trousers stretched to a point that almost looked painful, with a small wet spot blooming where he could make out the shape of the head._ _

__Gellert chuckled._ _

__"You really want to do something about that, don't you...?" He rocked his hips suggestively, and Credence saw the wave of gooseflesh rush up his own body. "You don't _have to_... When you _have to_ , you'll know, because I'll take it anyway. But you are very welcome to... if you're so eager..."_ _

__Credence's hands were already flying to the Commander's belt, happy he would not be rebuked this time. He sought out those penetrating eyes as he reached into the Commander's trousers, looked right into them, and smiled._ _

__A half smirk on the Commander's face was his reward. A smirk tinged with the hint of disbelief he'd seen there whenever Credence showed honest want, honest enthusiasm—whenever he returned, eagerly, the attentions that Gellert placed upon him. It faded quickly now, as soon as Credence got the buckle undone and his hands down the Commander's trousers. The rigidity of flesh and the tightness of the material made it a task for Credence, and he tried in vain to pull them down the man's hips._ _

__Large hands had to help him. Credence watched in awe as Gellert's thumbs dipped under the rough fabric and pulled it down with ease, folding it back to reveal the hard flesh beneath. It was more real that he'd remembered. He found himself in his own moment of disbelief, staring at the deep flush of red on the cock's head; the veins, thick with blood and as soft and intricate as Credence remembered; all fading into pale skin below. He hadn't known if he would ever see this again, and the thought was so incongruent with everything he'd been taught to value, everything he knew he should want, that it startled him. He knew he'd wanted the Commander's touch, his love, his safety... but he realized now how much he wanted _this_ again: the Commander's flesh in his hands, against his body, insistent to be as close to him as it could. _ _

__Credence took a breath, reached out, and touched it. With both hands, he held the Commander gently, and then remembered he should _take_ , and leaned in._ _

__Gellert crouched down to briefly, hotly press his lips to Credence's—before crawling up, following the insistent tug of small hands on his member, so that he straddled Credence's torso with the erect flesh hovering close to Credence's face._ _

__Credence gulped, intimidated... but Gellert was careful not to put any weight on him, and the man's erection remained at a safe enough distance, where he could stroke it and study it at will. Up close, there was a strong smell that was almost offensive at first, but after a few breaths, Credence found himself feeling heady and aroused with it. He wrapped both palms eagerly around the thick, hard organ, running his hands up the full length and marveling with every inch that this organ had been inside him. Although it was so rigid, the skin that stretched over it was delicate and silky, and bunched a little under the bulb at the end when Credence squeezed hard enough. He glanced up occasionally, worried he might be hurting the man, but Gellert only gave him small, pleasured hums of approval every time he explored. Even when he ran his fingertip over the tiny opening at the end, smearing around a sticky bubble of liquid that had blossomed there._ _

__A shuddering breath from above was his reward. Credence thought of the gusts of wind before a storm, because he remembered that sound. And he remembered the things that came after the Commander got worked up like that. Credence closed his fist around the head of the member, letting the liquid grease his palm, and for that he was rewarded with a shift of the man's hips and another ragged breath of air._ _

__"That's right." Gellert's voice was soft between breaths, a sign of either restraint or indulgence._ _

__Credence wasn't skilled enough to tell, but he felt it was a good thing. Fingers wound through his hair as he brought his palms together and slid them down the shaft, imagining as he did so that they were his body and watching as the stiff flesh sank through them and came out the other side as they slid down and down. He was in awe of how something so large had fit in him, until he heard chuckling from above._ _

__The hand in his hair scratched his scalp affectionately. "You'd be surprised how malleable the body can be," Gellert told him, hips shifting in a way that told Credence he was imagining it, too._ _

__Credence flushed happily, for once not ashamed or embarrassed to be caught in a dirty thought, but warm with the intimacy of sharing it with another person. He squeezed and stroked more vigorously, wanting the Commander to feel just how much he loved that they could share these things. That he'd been let back in._ _

__Gellert seemed to react most when Credence touched the glossy, smooth bulb at the end, which was almost purple now with the eager swell of blood beneath the surface. Although he relished stroking the full length of the thing, he let his hands linger on the top more and more, enjoying the reward of the deep groans it elicited._ _

__"I could take you right now... just like this..." Gellert whispered hungrily, and a hot, stringy drop of fluid touched Credence's cheek a moment later. He shivered, his own much smaller member feeling so hard it almost hurt. In what was surely a deranged moment, scrambled by so much desire, Credence darted up and licked the string of fluid from the tip of Gellert's cock. The hand in his hair tightened with a suddenness that made his scalp burn, and the sound the Commander made was so dangerous that Credence froze, suddenly certain that he was about to be thrown down and penetrated again. Surprised by what a real bolt of terror that sent through his body, and how it somehow didn't lessen the arousal at all._ _

__Tension wound through the body above him. The cock in his hands jerked forward, the head bumping against Credence's chin. Gellert had lost his restraint for a moment, but he caught himself again and pulled back before his weight smothered Credence. The low hum that reverberated through him made Credence think of wild things and his heart was in his throat again. But it calmed quickly, and all that remained were pleasant shivers across his skin as Gellert gave him room to breathe and continued petting his hair._ _

__Having caught that breath, Credence had another idea. Slowly this time, he lifted himself up and touched his tongue to the underside of the head. He was afraid Gellert might lose control again and knock him back, but when that didn't happen, he opened wide and closed his mouth over the bulb. He remembered how good this had felt when Gellert had done it to him, and that Gellert seemed to like it too, but it was an uncomfortable stretch for his mouth._ _

__"I had thought I was going to be nice this time," Gellert whispered in between panting breaths. "This was meant to be all for you."_ _

__It was awkward with his mouth stretched around the Commander's flesh, but Credence tried to make a noise of eager reassurance, wanting the man to know that he enjoyed this too. All of it. The sound came out like a muffled whimper, and a bit of saliva leaked from the corner of Credence's mouth._ _

__"Fuck..."_ _

__The Commander shifted around him, knees planting more firmly on either side of Credence's body. Both of the Commander's hands cupped Credence's head, holding it so firmly that Credence realized he could relax his weight into the grip. Cradled and secure._ _

__And then, the head of the Commander's cock plunged rather suddenly toward the back of his throat, and Credence gagged with the unexpected pressure of it, instinctively trying to pull away—but quite thoroughly trapped. Thankfully, the pressure lasted only a moment, before the Commander pulled back and gave him just enough room to breathe. It was difficult, trying to gasp for breath around the large bulb of flesh in his mouth, so he mostly had to suck the air in through his nose, which didn't feel like enough. Gradually, he calmed, placing his hands down at the divots of Gellert's hips so that he had something to push against next time. But when Gellert's hips moved again, his hands were weak and useless against the strength of the man's body. His hardness blocked Credence's airways again, and he dug his fingernails into Gellert's skin, realizing he simply had to make himself endure it._ _

__It was quick this time—but then it came again, and again, and Credence realized the Commander was thrusting into his mouth the way he had done to other parts of his body. He focused on gasping for breath between the thrusts, unable to do much else. Unable to control the indignity of the saliva that was running freely from his mouth, or the tears that were spilling from his eyes. It was strange, because he wasn't sad, or in pain—but his body was overwhelmed, and wept anyway. The corners of his mouth grew sore from the tight stretch and friction, and as the thrusts went on and on, his jaw began to ache fiercely as well._ _

__Credence didn't know how much of it he could take. He held on as long as he could, trying to let the minutes pass by one by one, trying to think of the Commander—of doing this for him, and of giving him the pleasure he'd given to Credence only a short time ago, but it wasn't easy to fight his body's instincts, which didn't want to trust Gellert, even if his mind did. And he _did_ trust Gellert, he reminded himself. Now and before, with everything he had. He'd risked everything to find the Commander again; why should this be any different? _ _

__Fortunately, it didn't take long. Gellert's grunts grew sharper, higher. The more Credence's fatigue made him pliant, the more eager Gellert became and the deeper the length of him drove down Credence's throat. With a few final thrusts and a long groan, a suffocating rush of salty fluid in the back of Credence's mouth signaled the end._ _

__Gellert held himself at that deepest point until black teased at the edges of Credence's vision, and then drew out of his mouth. Saliva and release dripped everywhere, but Credence couldn't help it. He was gathered up in strong arms before he had the chance to come back to himself, trying not to cough and failing._ _

__"Oh shhh... There there..." Gellert soothed, though his voice was still ragged and panting. He lounged back and gathered Credence up against his chest, tugging on a blanket that hung over the back of the couch and pulling it over them sloppily. Credence burrowed his face against the Commander's shoulder, coughing and hiccuping while strong hands patted and rubbed his back. "You shouldn't have done that if you didn't want me to lose control."_ _

__Credence considered that as he coughed up some of the fluid Gellert had spilled down his throat, and awkwardly swallowed it down again. He could feel Gellert's heart still racing in his rib-cage where he laid, and it was oddly soothing. He felt his body melt into the Commander's the longer he laid there, his breath steadying again—and it was only then he remembered he was still hard. A small squirm against the Commander's torso caused a rush of pleasure in the core of his pelvis, as his small erection remained trapped between them. He hesitated a moment before squirming again, more blatantly pressing himself down, seeking the friction. The Commander's hand slipped down to his behind at once, grasping it forcefully and encouraging Credence to move. With his face burrowed into the crook of Gellert's neck, he ground his hips down in a blind chase for release until it happened again, and his whole body sagged like a wet blanket. He felt somehow scoured inside, wonderfully empty and floating._ _

__"You... are... quite special," Gellert remarked, after a long and lazy silence, idly stroking back Credence's hair. "Quite special indeed."_ _

__When Credence looked up again, he found Gellert with a small smile on his face. All for him. His chest expanded with that knowledge and warmth filled him all over again—a lazy, hazy kind of warmth that felt a lot like soaking in the bath. Gellert seemed content to lie there as much as Credence was, soaking up every last bit of the pleasurable experience his body could._ _

__After a long rest, it was Gellert who moved first, cleaning them with magic and in one smooth gesture forming clothes for Credence out of a throw blanket. They were robes, just like some of the wizards wore when they were not in uniform, and though it felt strange to be dressed in them, they were warm and comfortable and just his size._ _

__Credence wouldn't have asked for it, but Gellert sat him down again and told him to have another bowl of broth. Obediently, Credence ate until his stomach was full and round and he could eat no more, and only then did Gellert vanish the meal._ _

__Only after Credence was rested and thoroughly taken care of did Gellert rise and take his hand. "Would you like to see the rest of the camp? _Our_ camp, not the muggles'."_ _

__Credence felt as if he were lagging behind himself as his body rose and took the Commander's hand. Out among other witches and wizards...? Was that possible? Surely they'd all turn their heads to glower at the filthy muggle among them. It would be a parade of humiliation. Gellert might as well put a collar and leash on him to take him out in public..._ _

__"Stop that," Gellert commanded, with a voice not too different from the one he might use to order his troops, and Credence yelped in surprise. He leapt, but he leapt closer to the Commander, plastering himself against the man's hip and clutching his hand harder. It made no sense, since the Commander himself was what had startled him—and yet that was also where he sought his comfort._ _

__Gellert laughed, and stroked back Credence's hair as he led him to the exit. "My dear boy... You're _with me_. No one will question your presence. I guarantee it."_ _

__The flap of the tent blew aside for them as they exited, and for once, departing the tent didn't signify returning to the hellscape below. The fresh air felt like freedom in Credence's lungs, and he was so light with the comfort that he wouldn't be returned to the dorms that he felt he could float off the magical carpets and into the clouds._ _

__He closed his eyes, drinking in the dull, gray sunlight... then felt a lurch. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself standing in the center of the wizard's camp. There was noise and commotion all around, and several hovering platforms stretching above and below and out beside them. A bright flash drew Credence's attention to his right, where he saw a plume of glowing smoke rising from a large cauldron. A group of witches were gathered around it inside a large, open tent. Bright pink smoke puffed from the opening up top._ _

__Then a loud shriek from behind made him spin about in fear, hiding partly behind Gellert as he searched for the origin of the noise. It took several seconds before he realized it was a raven-like creature sitting on a wizard's shoulder. It was _almost_ a raven, except that it had a face just like a person's. It shrieked again when Credence looked at it—an ear-splitting sound—and Credence almost thought it formed the word, _storm.__ _

__Then its wizard owner gave it a bop on the nose with his wand, and the creature fell into sheepish silence._ _

__The large hand around his tightened, and Credence's attention was drawn back to the Commander. He'd been watching Credence take in the first sights and sounds, his face set in reserved approval. It was difficult to think of the man as Gellert outside of the tent, surrounded by a cacophony of noise and bustling figures, all of whom were unlike people Credence had seen before, and all doing amazing things where-ever he turned. All under this man's command._ _

__Credence held tight, fearing to let go and become lost._ _

__There were pathways for walking and large swaths of rug laid out for lounging, sitting, or doing other kinds business Credence couldn't decipher. The tents here had open doors, and as the Commander led him along, Credence saw one with a spacious tavern inside. The next took Credence off guard, glimpsing what he was sure were baths—candles lighting a darkened interior and a group of wizards, nude, sitting and soaking in a sunken pit in the center._ _

__When they neared the edge of the platform they stood upon, Credence glimpsed others below, including one just as large as theirs, only circular, with spectators along the edge, watching a witch and a wizard in the center who appeared to be flinging jets of brilliant light at one another. A spark of electricity shot between them and Credence's step faltered, his body recognizing it before his mind as one of the spells the guards used on the children._ _

__"Dueling," the Commander explained. "For sport, in this case, but we are an army and all must expect to fight."_ _

__Something about that sat wrong in Credence's belly. That the spells used by soldiers in war or sport would be turned on children who had no part in the conflict at all; non-magical children who had no way to defend themselves. It seemed dirty. Dirtier now that he saw the larger context._ _

__"Why are we here?" he blurted out, shocking himself with the realization that he hadn't really dwelled on that question till this moment. He had simply trudged along, accepting his lack of options and trying to survive each moment. He hadn't thought much about the larger reason they were all at the camp. What possible purpose it could serve to keep them prisoner and torture them this way._ _

__The guards and 'teachers' would tell them they were there to "learn their place," of course... but that wasn't a real answer. It was just another way of telling them not to question._ _

__"Leverage," the Commander answered simply. And he _was_ the Commander in that moment. The figurehead at the end of the spear. Credence could not forget that, even as the man's palm warmed his hand._ _

__"I don't know what that means," Credence confessed smally._ _

__Down below, the wizard in the ring let out a pained cry as the witch hit his wand hand with a fiery blast, sending his wand flying out behind him. His hand looked scorched from the attack, and he clutched his wrist in obvious agony as cheers rang out around the circle. The witch took several bows before proceeding calmly over to her dual-mate and tapping the tip of her wand to his burned hand. Credence saw the color change from a horrid red, back into an ashy brown._ _

__The Commander let him watch._ _

__"You'll understand in time," he told Credence as the wizard below fetched his wand from the edge of the circle, holstered it, and then bowed in turn to the witch who had defeated him. Another round of applause scattered through the crowd before the duelists parted and another pair took their place._ _

__Credence looked back up to the Commander and wasn't sure whether that reassurance sat any better with him._ _

__The man offered him a hint of a smile and tugged him along, away from the ledge. "You have time now. Time to learn the world from a wizard's point of view. I can see that even from a muggle one, you've been sheltered."_ _

__When Credence bristled at that, surprising even himself, the Commander raised a hand and quelled the reaction._ _

__"Sheltered by your adopted mother, not your own volition. She was truly one of the worst of what we see in muggles."_ _

__"How do you know that?" Credence asked, his stomach still tight as he thought back to the camp below and the sting of the guards' spells, and wondering how someone like the Commander of a wizarding army could really know someone like Mary Lou. He didn't want to defend her, exactly, and he knew that he couldn't even if he tried, but something still didn't sit right._ _

__"I know it because you know it," the Commander told him. "If you try to say otherwise for the sake of argument, we both know you'll only be lying to yourself."_ _

__Credence said nothing. He knew it was true._ _

__"The new generation of muggles do have to be retaught. It may seem like a futile effort now, from what you've experienced down there, but it is necessary. Both for the war effort, and for them to learn. They are not alone in the world any longer." The Commander squeezed Credence's hand, drawing his attention up again. "Don't think me heartless. I do not wish for muggles to live like that forever."_ _

__"Is it- Is it us? What are we supposed to do, so that we don't have to live like that? If it's because of hating witches- I'm sure they wouldn't hate you if they knew. That you could heal people, and- and- And float tents, and-"_ _

__Credence chattered on as the Commander led him along, tugging him by the hand toward one of the stairs. It was nothing more than carpet folded into the shape of stairs, and yet it felt completely firm to step on. Credence quickly found himself wishing there was a railing, and forgot all about his opinions as a strong gust of wind came by. Instead he clung to Gellert's side, trying not to choke on his own heart. And trying not to look down._ _

__"Muggle communities will remain far more pliant, cowed, and teachable as long as we have large numbers of their young in our custody. And children, of course, are naturally teachable. The younger generations will understand the new world order in a way their elders cannot, I'm afraid. It's about the larger picture. Muggles have turned toward a dangerous path of destruction. We will interrupt their twisted vision with one generational sweep. This moment in history is marked by the pain of transition, Credence. Once the muggle will has been subdued and they put their trust in wizards to lead the way forward, everything will be different..."_ _

__The platform they ascended onto was occupied almost edge-to-edge by one massive tent, with only a narrow walkway around the sides. Within, the tent was even more enormous, with a globe-like ceiling that let light in through a beautiful mandella of patterned windows that Credence had not seen on the outside._ _

__The inside of the tent had a hushed feeling, and all the witches and wizards there seemed absorbed in their own solitude. Some stood over tall, decorative basins of water, staring onto the surface. Some knelt before holders where they placed their wands, causing a nest of crystals to glow softly from within. Some gathered around a large, dark pool in the center of the tent, with a surface so black and smooth that it seemed almost like a void. Credence saw a witch dip her hand inside the pool with a muttered spell. There weren't any ripples._ _

__"It's a church," Credence whispered, recognizing the atmosphere immediately._ _

__"...Of a sort," Gellert hummed. "Divination. Here, we are our own gods. We can look into the past, or—those of us with the gift and the skill to interpret it—even the future."_ _

__Credence turned wide eyes up to the Commander, but he did not look like he was teasing._ _

__"Every day we check our progress and realign our course to pursue one of endless possibilities in time. Our methods may seem cruel, from what you've seen, but you do not know all that is at stake."_ _

__Gellert led Credence quietly through the tent, letting him observe, but respectful of distance and sound so as not to break the trance some of the occupants seemed to be under._ _

__Credence was beginning to feel overwhelmed. For what little he knew down at the camp, he had thought he at least knew it to be injustice. That it was horrible. The idea that these wizards had seen the future—that this was even _possible_ —and had decided that this was how to act accordingly, was too much to take in._ _

__"C-c- can I... would any of this work for me?" Credence asked in a shivering whisper, his mind running in circles. If Gellert was right—if there really was some magic hidden inside him—then maybe he could get some of his own answers. See what he was missing. Or—he thought, with secret guilt—what the wizards were missing._ _

__"Mmmh..." Gellert made a skeptical noise, casting his eyes about the chamber. "Divination is a highly practiced skill... but I suppose there would be no harm in you looking in one of the pools. Here."_ _

__He led Credence over to one of the unoccupied basins, kneeling down to wrap his arms around Credence's legs._ _

__"Put an arm around my shoulder."_ _

__Credence obeyed, and a moment later, he was lifted up so that he was seated in the Commander's grip, holding on with one arm. It brought him up far enough to look down into the basin. Though it seemed like ordinary stone on the outside, the inside of the bowl was a polished, iridescent stone that sung softly with oily neons._ _

__"See that bottle right there?" Gellert murmured against his ear. Credence shivered._ _

__"M-hm."_ _

__"Pick it up and put two drops in. Gently, now. Only two."_ _

__Credence nodded and reached out, taking the delicate glass bottle and tilting it ever so cautiously above the surface of the water. One drop... two... He quickly righted the bottle and put it back in its place. The drops fell into the beautifully clear water like little sparks of light, but quickly dissolved._ _

__"Now all you do is look and let your mind go blank," Gellert explained. "It's very important not to cling to any thoughts. Not to favor or combat any notion. Just let them be."_ _

__Credence was an expert at letting his mind go blank, he thought. He'd had to do it so much in recent times, to survive the pain in his body and the unbearable circumstances of his life. Drawing on that same distant blankness, he slipped easily into a far-away state, almost forgetting what he was looking at._ _

__Distantly, he could tell something was stirring in the water. A small, black, underwater plume, as if someone had spilled ink into the basin. He kept Gellert's advice in mind and tried not to pay it any particular attention, just letting the blank state carry on. The more he did, the larger the black swirl grew, until it consumed all the water in the basin, whirling angrily beneath the surface._ _

__Gellert set him down, and Credence startled at the sudden change, struggling to find the stability in his own legs again._ _

__"See anything?"_ _

__"Just a black cloud..."_ _

__"Mh..." Gellert sounded vaguely disappointed. "Maybe next time."_ _

__Credence held tight to Gellert's hand as they left, wondering what he was supposed to have seen and finding it hard to let go of the feeling that what he had seen was abnormal. Doubt came creeping back. The Commander thought he should be there, Credence reminded himself. He had apparently shown enough magic, if only by reclaiming his own memories, for this man's approval and there was no one in the entire camp whose opinion mattered more. Still, it was difficult for Credence to reconcile the thread of worry he felt over failing to see anything in the basin. He clung to what the Commander said about children—that their magic sometimes did not appear right away._ _

__Gellert took him on a long tour of the floating world, and gradually Credence's worry was set aside, replaced by potions and brews, magical creatures, and people stranger than Credence could have imagined. Only some of them greeted the Commander, and Credence came to understand the differences in rank, and that those who did were usually higher in the camp than those who showed deference by leaving them to themselves as they passed._ _

__Despite all the magical sights on offer, the highlight of the tour for Credence was the maps. One of the tents they visited had a room that was nothing _but_ maps. Maps open on the tables; maps pinned to the walls; maps plastered on the ceiling; even maps hanging like great banners that Credence could dart between. He took great delight in the Commander pointing out the location of is little town—or at least, where it had once stood—and in understanding the broader context of his surroundings. Gellert was even so kind as to point out the location of the camp on the map, which once again reoriented Credence's reality. He'd felt as though the camp existed in a sort of no-man's-place. Confirmation that it was firmly grounded in the world was... comforting._ _

__"The location is magically protected in a number of ways," Gellert explained. "The feeling of disconnect is just your magical intuition reading the situation."_ _

__Credence wanted to believe that was true._ _

__By the time the sky was changing color, Credence's stomach gave a longing growl, and to his surprise, he realized the thought of food was appetizing rather than repulsive. That probably meant he was recovering._ _

__"One last stop," Gellert promised with a smile, taking a moment to stroke the fine hairs at the base of Credence's neck._ _

__There was something to his voice, something warm and anticipatory, and it made Credence look up. He was doing that a lot today, craning his neck to get a look at Gellert's face. Even if it was beginning to strain, Credence liked it. He had never been so close to someone for so long before—someone who _wanted_ him close, much less a man like Gellert. _ _

__"What's that?"_ _

__Gellert only smiled and with a wink of his pale eye, they were off again. Credence was led through what he was starting to think of as the militarized section of the floating camp. The tent with the maps was there, along with a hall of potions, and one with stocked goods in crates that must have stored unimaginable supplies once he learned that all of them were shrunken and still took up a full tent. They passed tents that were visibly locked and Gellert explained they contained weapons, most of which were not suitable for anywhere but the battlefield or the most remote training grounds. Credence had a hard time imagining what kinds of weapons could be worse than the living fire that had decimated his village. That had only come from their wands._ _

__The tent they stopped before was open and as welcoming as the ones Credence had been allowed in so far, and a glance inside made him wonder if it were some kind of shop. A single attendant sat behind a desk, looking bored until the two of them came through the doorway, and Credence tried not to laugh as the soldier nearly jumped out of his seat upon recognizing the Commander._ _

__"Sir!" the young wizard adopted a perfect, straight-backed posture as he faced them. If Credence was not mistaken, the Commander himself dropping by this tent was not exactly an everyday occurrence.. "What can I help you with, sir?"_ _

__Gellert, for his part, was all good cheer. "Just a wand."_ _

__The young man paled. "N- Not for you...? Oh!"_ _

__It was only then that he noticed the tiny figure clinging to the Commander's side. Credence watched the paleness turn to a deep, red blush._ _

__"My apolo- _Right away,_ Commander."_ _

__He reached for his wand with a shaking hand and cast a levitation spell on a large, ornate chest that was sitting on top of the shelf behind him. He released it an inch or two above the desk, and it landed with such a harsh sound that Credence thought it must have weighed a tonne. The handles on the sides looked like rings in the maws of snarling lions, and the whole thing was covered in fading lacquered writing._ _

__The attendant pulled a chain of keys from around his neck and searched nervously for an ornate, golden one that slipped into the lock. Credence wasn't sure what he'd expected... but when the chest opened to reveal row after row of finely carved wands, his heart skipped a beat. The implication finally caught up to him._ _

__"Friendly wands, these," the attendant said with a nervous smile, catching onto Credence's glowing interest. "Obedient. Useful in a pinch, if one's been disarmed and needs a temporary option. Oh, but you're too young even to have met your first wand, aren't you? Here..."_ _

__The man reached into the chest and retrieved a rather short wand, carved of some wood with a cheerful, pale gold color._ _

__"This is a good training wand... Not ideal for tricky spells, but should suit you just fine, I'd think..."_ _

__It took several moments for Credence to realize the man was leaning over the desk to hand the wand to him, and that he was expected to approach and... take it. He still looked up at Gellert to be sure, feeling deep down that this was too much of an honor for him._ _

__"Go on." Gellert's hand touched the small of his back and Credence couldn't hesitate any further._ _

__He stepped forward, half fearing, suddenly and irrationally, that God would strike him dead the moment he lifted his hand up, and up, until his fingers touched the end of the smooth wood and curled around its handle._ _

__Credence held the wand. The attendant let go. The Heavens did not open up to smite him, and hellfire did not rise from the depths of the earth to lick his heels—although, he thought a little hysterically, they were probably too high up for it to reach. Altogether nothing happened, and Credence was quite relieved. He looked up at the Commander with a smile, unsure but so overwhelmed at being allowed to hold such a thing by himself that he couldn't help it. For once he felt like he was being encouraged not to hide his gratitude. The Commander seemed to like it when he smiled._ _

__And the Commander was smiling in return. Not as wide as Credence, but it was there at the corner of his mouth. "Put that in your pocket for now and keep it safe. We'll have you try it out tonight."_ _

**Author's Note:**

> Visit us on tumblr:
> 
> [thepiperofhameln.tumblr.com](https://thepiperofhameln.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Fan Art] The Showers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13137624) by [x57](https://archiveofourown.org/users/x57/pseuds/x57)
  * [[Fan Art] The Morning After](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13652289) by [x57](https://archiveofourown.org/users/x57/pseuds/x57)




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